


The Moon and the Sun

by marinstan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Creatures, Enemies to Friends to Lovers (sort of), Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Healing, Internalized Homophobia (nothing extreme), M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Rimming, Social Injustice, pansy/draco friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25334029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinstan/pseuds/marinstan
Summary: Harry doesn't know his heart, but he usually wears it on his sleeve.Draco does know his heart, but he'd never wear it on his sleeve.He'd rather die than admit that Harry broke it. And he'd never, ever take him back.Would he?A story about finding yourself, accepting past mistakes, and healing from old wounds. Oh, and smart friends. Definitely smart friends.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 36
Kudos: 219





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick disclaimer: The child abuse in this really isn't graphic and it's all in the past. If it is a trigger for you though, I advise to proceed with caution.  
> Regarding the creatures in this fic; I totally made up some facts lol. I hope you'll be fine to just roll with that.
> 
> Happy reading, everyone!

One of the other young Death Eaters – Theo, I believe – told me once that it doesn't matter how loud you scream, the walls remain deaf. He's probably right about that, I don't know. I haven't screamed once since they brought me in here. Not spoken, either.

I have nothing to say.

And no one to listen to me.

Until he comes, that is. He just comes by, as if that was normal. As if you'd just do that. As if we were _friends_.

But we're not. And I don't want to be. Not anymore.

Still, no matter what I want or don't want, he waltzes in as if he'd own the place. Like he does; I'm sure you know what I mean.

After the first brief glance, I refuse to look at him. He looks good. Healthy. Maybe a bit tired. But, hey, that's okay. He just won a war, you guys. He's allowed to be a bit tired.

One might say, so am I, but whatever.

„I didn't want them to lock you up,“ is the first thing he says to me. Staring at me through the bars. I feel like a caged bird. With clipped wings.

„How generous of you.“ I'm sure this is new to him – not getting what he wants. I bet he can't sleep at night because of it. Because someone dared deny him something.

I hate him. God, I _hate_ him.

„Did someone tell you about your parents?“

I'm short on testing Theo's theory. I know my screams can be _very_ loud. Especially if I'm crucioed, but I don't think Potter will do that. No matter. I could scream anyway.

He takes my silence for an answer.

„Your father got the kiss.“ He doesn't say he's sorry. If he did, I'd have jumped up and clawed at him through the bars. Maybe I would have gotten a scratch in before he'd knocked me out.

„Your mother's sentence is only a year longer than yours. I'm sure she'll make it through.“

„If you say so.“

Because everything he says _must_ be true, right? I mean, he's Harry Potter. How could he _ever_ be wrong?

He's looking at me like – like I'm some weird new species. I want to shout at him to leave me.

„What do you want?“ I ask instead.

„Nothing.“

„Then why are you here, Potter?“

He remains silent. So do I.

I'm not going to make this easy for him. Afterall, _he_ is the one who apparently needs something.

I don't need anything. Nothing but a bed and a shower and some food and someone to hold me. And Pansy. I need Pansy.

God, _I hate him_.

„I didn't want you to get locked up in here.“

I snort. I can't help it.

„Yes, you said. Thank you ever so much for your kindness.“

He's quiet again.

Actually, he doesn't really look all that good. His hair is a bit shaggy. His eyes are sunken.

I hope he's suffering. I hope he's having nightmares.

I know it isn't fair. But I don't care.

When is anything ever fair?

„Do you – Are you hungry?“ he asks.

That's it. I laugh. Loud and bitter. And then I let go.

„Fuck you, Potter.“

He doesn't move. Doesn't speak. So I do.

„You're so pathetic, I can't believe it. Do you have nothing else left to care about? Probably not. I bet you're so fucking lonely, you'd rather see me than go home to everyone who pretends to love you, but actually, they just _needed_ you. You hear me, Potter? No one actually loves you. They just _used_ you. They don't care. No one cares.“

I shut my mouth. My stomach is turning. I feel sick.

Potter looks at me for another long moment. His face betrays no emotion. Which is more than a little disconcerting. He can never keep it under wraps. Usually.

When he leaves, he does so without a word.

He leaves, and finally, I scream.

Potter comes back the next day. I don't think that's allowed, but rules have never applied to him, have they?

„I brought you chocolate,“ he says. Then he slips two bars into my cell. My mouth waters, but I stay put in my corner.

„I know you like sweets,“ he goes on. „I don't really know what else, so... What else do you like to eat?“

I sneer at him, stomach clenching painfully. It grumbles at the thought of food and I die of mortification.

„I have a bacon sandwich,“ he says. „Do you like that?“

„I'm vegetarian.“

Potter blinks at me. „Oh. Okay. Um... I can remove the bacon? Then it would just be... salad and cheese.“

„I don't want your charity.“

He sits down in front of the bars. I turn my head away.

In the end, I can't bear the silence anymore and snap: „Aren't you needed elsewhere?“

„Like where?“

„Like shaking Kingsley's hand and helping Granger implent her new laws and kissing some arses.“

He bristles.

„I've never kissed any arses.“

I roll my eyes. „You know how I meant it.“

„Who says I meant something else?“

My face is hot.

„You said it like you meant something else.“

„Well, I didn't.“

I give him a nasty glare. My face is still hot.

He reaches through the bars and pushes the chocolate as far into my direction as he can.

I turn my nose up. My stomach is keening.

„I hate when you make that face.“

I snarl at him. Actually, really snarl.

„Funny. I hate your face in general.“

I almost lose it when Potter grins. „Yeah, I know.“

Suddenly, I have an idea. „Is that why you're here? Tired of the hero worship?“

Potter shrugs. His hair looks worse than mine. Which usually would be, _obviously_ , obviously it does, but now, I'm sitting in a cell. Now it's saying something.

„I guess that too, yeah.“

„You're weak.“

He lifts his brows at me. His mouth hardens a fraction. „Sure, Malfoy.“

Grime is covering my skin. I hold his gaze. „You're so weak, Potter. You always pretend you're so tough. You think you got things under control? You don't. You never had.“

Potter gives me a faintly annoyed, rather surprised look.

„All I said is I don't like having fans all over me every second of every day. I really don't think that makes me weak.“

„Well, I do.“

He rolls his eyes. „I'll leave.“ He gets up. „You should really eat the chocolate. It helps.“

My heart is slamming against my ribcage. It wants to jump out of my chest.

He should leave. That's better. That's so much better. Obviously.

My heart is pounding and pounding as I stare at him walking away.

When he's gone, I crawl over to the bars and pick up the chocolate. My fingers are shaking as I unwrap it. The first bite is heaven.

The second tastes like loss.

It takes a week for Potter to come back again.

But he does. He comes back and then he comes back again and again, until I stop expecting him to just stop showing up.

We don't always talk much. Sometimes we do.

At first, I'm insulting him and then he mocks me. And brings me food.

One day after he's gone and I'm stuffing myself with the chocolate he brought me, I realize that we're talking now. He just told me he feels trapped. I told him that's insulting for me to hear. He cringed.

But we weren't _really_ insulting each other.

The chocolate tastes better now.

„You've been going on about how you hate your job for at least twenty minutes now,“ I say, leaning against the wall right next to the bars.

„Sorry,“ Potter says. He makes this face that means he feels horrible for talking too much about himself. He usually doesn't. I think he thinks talking about himself would make him a bad person and the Saviour can't be a bad person, can he?

„It's not like you'd be keeping me from any important business,“ I say, flapping my hand. „I'm just wondering – if you hate your job so much, why not just change it?“

„I can't.“

My eyebrows lift.

„Not a very Gryffindor thing to say.“ I smirk at him.

He gives me his _haha-very-funny-Malfoy_ look. The fond version though.

„They need me. I can't quit the Aurors.“

„Oh, of course. I forgot – how could any department possibly function without _you_ there? It's a miracle the Ministry doesn't simply fall apart without you as Minister. You should start cloning yourself, so everyone can get a piece of your endless wisdom.“

He blushes bright red and winds an arm through the bars, lightly punching me. „That's _not_ what I said.“

I give him my most devious smirk. „It's what you meant.“

But he shakes his head, insistently. „No. No, it's not. I just – they wouldn't let me.“

„Wouldn't _let_ you? When have you ever asked for permission?“

„I always ask for permission.“

„No, you don't.“

He looks at me like a puppy. „It's not a bad thing,“ I say. „I wish I hadn't always asked permission.“

He gives me a weird look. I go on, bored: „And anyway, you're Harry Potter. You can do whatever you please.“

„I really can't. If I could, we'd be having this discussion at a pub or something.“

My throat suddenly tightens. „Well.“ I can't say anything else.

He stirs the conversation back to lighter topics – until he has to go.

„She's waiting for me,“ he says.

And leaves.

„How is Pansy?“

It took me months to finally cave and ask him that. I hate giving him ammunition. If he wants to hurt me, the way to go is Pansy.

Potter gives me a curious look. „Parkinson?“

„Yes.“

„I think – alright? Actually... I don't really know. But I'll look into it for you.“

I bow my head, unable to look at him. But he is looking at me.

„Are the two of you...“

This expression is a new one. I don't think I've seen it before.

„Are we what, Potter?“

„You know.“

„I don't.“

„Together. Are you together?“

„Obviously not. I'm here. She's somewhere out.“

I can't deny how much fun this it. Harry swallows. His throat moves. His expressive mouth is moving.

„But are you a couple?“

I study his face. Take my time. „No,“ I finally say. „We're not a couple.“

„Oh. Okay, then.“

„How is Weasley?“ I ask, regarding my fingers.

„Ron? He's fine. I think he'll be -“

„Not Ronald. Ginny. How is Ginny, Potter?“

His eyes widen a fraction. „Good. She's going to be flying with the Harpies.“

I'm still looking at my hands. „You must be proud.“

„Yeah. I am.“

We're sitting in tense silence. I'm cold.

„Sometimes I worry.“ It doesn't sound like he's finished yet, but he waits at least a minute to continue. „I worry I'm not good enough for her.“

A sharp, white hot surge of annoyance zips through me.

„You're the fucking Saviour. I'd wager you're good enough for her.“

„That's not what I meant.“

„Well, then use your words.“ I'm snapping. I don't care.

„I meant... sometimes I worry I don't love her right. Like I could – like I should love her more.“

My lips part. „Oh.“

„Yeah.“

Now he's the one not looking at me.

„Well,“ I say carefully. „She might not be the right one for you. That wouldn't be the end of the world.“

„I think she's the right one.“

„Then why did you bring this up?“

Harry looks at me, then quickly away. I want him to go.

The walls of a prison cell may be deaf, but they're not mute. I can hear them if I'm not careful. That's how I know I'm starting to slip.

That's why I'm so thankful when Potter shows up again.

„You look a mess,“ I greet him.

He shakes snow out of his hair. His cheeks are red. He should brush some snow of his ridiculously long lashes, too.

„It's snowing,“ he says, scrunching up his nose.

I feel my lips quirk into a smile. „I've noticed.“

I would have noticed even if he hadn't barged in wearing half the sky as a hat. I think my fingers might have frozen already.

Potter sits down next to me. When he casts a warming charm, it feels like dying.

„Your lips are blue,“ Potter says in alarm. I can't bring myself to open my eyes. I need to relish this warmth while it lasts.

„It's cold in here,“ I say simply.

I think he's looking at me, but I'm fine with it.

„You'll be released next week.“

I know. I can't wait. And I'm terrified.

„Parkinson has a shop now,“ he says.

I almost forgot I asked him. Well, I didn't forget, but I didn't mention it again. I thought he had forgotten.

„What kind of shop?“

„Clothes. She sells clothes.“

„She's a designer?“

„I think so.“ His eyes seem even brighter with his skin slightly paler than usually.

„That sounds nice. Pansy always had a brilliant fashion sense.“

I'm slightly irritated by the Potter's unwavering stare. I lift a hand to my cheek.

„Do I have something on my face?“

He shakes his head once, still looking at me.

„I really like you.“

There is no air in my lungs anymore. My heart tries to compensate for it by kicking into overdrive.

„What?“

„I really like you,“ he repeats. „I wish we'd have been talking like this in school.“

„Me too,“ I say quietly.

„I bet you're excited to get out of here.“ Potter is smiling at me. My heartbeat is still in my throat.

„I am. Also a little...“ I trail off.

„Scared?“

„Don't be ridiculous.“ 

He grins, widely. Wide enough to show his teeth. They're pretty white, but not perfectly straight.

„What happened to your teeth?“

Potter touches them with a cold finger. „What? What about them?“

„They're not straight.“

The redness on his cheeks intensifies. He closes his mouth.

„Wow. Okay.“

„Wizards get their teeth straightened as soon as they've lost all their baby teeth. Why didn't you?“

„I – I didn't – I grew up with Muggles.“

I frown lightly. „Poor muggles. Can't straighten their teeth.“

„Actually, they can. There's, um, braces? It's... Anyway. I never got them.“

„Why?“

Potter looks to the side. „I should better go, I think.“ He glances at me. „You think I should get my teeth straightened?“

„No.“ The answer comes too quickly. He lifts his brows at me. I shrug, face hot. „I like your teeth.“

His lips part a little. „Okay.“

Now I avert my gaze. „You better get going.“

„Yes. I – I'm going to be gone for two weeks. So I won't be coming by.“

My heart is pounding in my throat again. I want to ask him if the next time we'll see each other will be in freedom. With no bars in between us.

But I don't dare to. I'm not the Gryffindor here.

„Have fun,“ I just say.

„It's for work.“

„Well, then be miserable.“

He's smiling again. With his teeth. It takes me a moment to notice the way I'm gazing at him, own mouth open. I quickly close it. Look away.

„Take care,“ he says and then, so quickly, I barely feel it, he touches my hand through the bars.

„You too,“ I manage to say. Then he's gone.

I'm not sure what I expected of Potter when I got out. It's not like we were really friends.

But he said he really liked me. And Potter's not a liar like me, so, logically, I concluded he was telling me the truth. Or at least what he believed to be the truth.

But he must have lied afterall.

Because the second I get out of Azkaban, Potter is gone from my life. He never comes looking for me. Never owls.

One drunken night, curled into a tight ball on Pansy's guest bed, I give in and write to him.

Just one time. One letter.

He ignores it.

So I pretend that he never came to visit me in the first place. I simply erase him from my memory.


	2. Finding Draco, Part One

I'm not looking for Draco Malfoy.

Sure, I might perk up and snatch the papers from Ron when he mentions an article about the release of Narcissa Malfoy. I might be a little disappointed when the article says nothing about Malfoy – nothing at all.

But that doesn't mean I'm looking for him. I don't want to see him again. I think.

It would be best if I never see him again.

It's weird that no one seems to have seen or heard from him since he got free, but – well. My friends aren't really Malfoy's. Why would they know anything about his whereabouts?

The Prophet on the other hand usually knows much more than it should. But it doesn't seem to know anything about the Malfoy heir. I might have shown up at the editorial department and grilled them.

The thing is, I'm worried about Malfoy. It just doesn't seem like him to simply... disappear.

When I share my thoughts with Ron he gives me a mildly horrified look.

„Please don't tell me you're wasting your time trying to track that git down. We both know he's all bark and no bite.“

He looks tired as he says it. One might think that two years after the war, things would have returned to normal. But the Auror Headquarters are still flooded with reports of scattered Death Eaters trying to form new alliances. Of hate crimes against former Death Eaters.

People are still shaken. Things are far from _normal_.

„That's not what I meant,“ I say, moving some files around on my desk.

The Auror life is much less glorious than you might think. A lot of it is spent behind heavy desks in dark offices, doing paperwork that's equally dull and gruesome.

„I know he's not dangerous. It's more... Just, it's strange, isn't it? That no one has seen him.“

Ron drains his mug of rather disgusting Ministry coffee. „Honestly, mate, I don't give a flying fuck about what Malfoy's up to. For all I care, he can go piss off into one of Daddy's secret hideouts and never show his ugly face again.“

I return to my reports on a robbery.

Ron might be right. Malfoy is probably just hiding somewhere. Many Death Eaters and associates are. It's for the best – society doesn't like them much. No one really likes them much. 

I'd be surprised if they'd even like themselves.

„I need a refill,“ I state, looking into the empty depth of my huge cup.

Ron doesn't look up from his own reports. „Same here.“

„So... are you getting some for me, too?“

My best friend just snorts and listlessly flips through a stack of papers. „Get your own bloody coffee.“

I flip him off, but grab both of our cups, heading toward the door. They're disgusting. We really should exchange them for new ones more often.

Malfoy probably wouldn't even want to talk to me, even if I knew where he was. I wouldn't talk to me if I were him.

„I just think something might have happened,“ I say as I put Ron's cup down in front of his long nose.

This time, Ron does glance at me. „And why d'you think that?“

I shift my weight. „I don't know. It might've.“

The look Ron gives me makes me blush. „Alright, mate. Whatever you say.“

„Don't you think so?“

„You don't want to know what I think.“

I look at him quizziqually and then decide that I probably really don't.

„I should go home. Ginny is waiting for me. Surprisingly enough.“

„Not with the Harpies anymore?“

Ron flinches as he burns his lips on the hot coffee. I close my hands tighter around my own cup, relishing the feeling of my skin melting.

„Not right now, no.“

„Well, then. Have fun.“

I give him a vague smile and head out of the office.

It's been almost a year since Malfoy has been released. I haven't seen him since.

At first, because I didn't want to. And now it seems that he doesn't.

I get that he's pissed, but... it's not like I wouldn't have owled him. More than once.

Five times. I've old him five bloody times. But if he gets the letters (which I _know_ he does), he doesn't deem them worthy of an answer.

He's probably caught up with some other old followers of Voldemort. Probably out there plotting my demise.

If he hasn't gotten kidnapped by a couple fanatics whose only goal it is to _cleanse_ Death Eater's souls – or maybe he's been snatched by Hermione's people, helping him build a new life in a strange country where he's all alone with no friends and no family – maybe he fell down the stairs and hit his head....

I'm getting ahead of myself. He's probably just hiding out at the Manor, under Mummy's skirts. That sounds like him.

That wouldn't be so hard to check. I could drop by the Manor. It wouldn't be a lot of effort at all.

I rub my face.

Or I could just go home. That wouldn't be any effort at all, either.

Narcissa Malfoy is merely a ghost of the person I remember. I assume I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. I've seen Azkaban, spent some time in Azkaban, and know people who've been in there for _years_ , still I'm shocked by how gaunt and _old_ Narcissa looks. Her hair is still long and rather full, but it's also thin, brittle. Her skin, once glowing, has now an unhealthy grey undertone. There are a myrad of new wrinkles marring her features.

Only her eyes are still sharp, if a little smaller, lashes colourless.

„Mr. Potter.“ She hides her surprise well. Or maybe she doesn't much care I'm here.

„Hello, Narcissa.“

A strange, unsettling feeling comes over me. For years, the name Narcissa Malfoy didn't mean much to me. She was just this haughty, regal looking woman that I despised because of her husband and git of a son. Then she was the mother who would have done anything to save her son, helping me in the process.

But who is she now? Ex Death Eater? Former prisoner? Mother of my... nemesis? Enemy? Almost friend?

I guess I'll just go with Narcissa and leave it at that.

„Do what do I owe the honour?“ She sounds neither genuine nor sarcastic. Just flat.

I resist the urge to shove my hands into my pockets. „Is your son here?“

Pale, perfectly shaped eyebrows fly up. „Draco?“

„Yes.“

„Is he in trouble?“

I shake my head, heart pounding. I don't want to be here, at this huge building, looking at Narcissa Malfoy's face.

I can't imagine Malfoy would've come back here. Not if he had any place else, any place at all, to go to.

„No, not at all. I'm just – well. Curious.“

The witch inclines her head.

„Would you like to come in?“

She doesn't lead me into one of the rooms I remember. Instead, she takes me into a comparably small parlour. It's bright and clean, yet an air of deep sorrow hangs over the place. I'm cold.

„Please, take a seat.“

Hesitantly, I sit down, the chair cushioned, yet still hard somehow. Narcissa settles down across from me, hands folded in her lap.

„So, is M- Draco here?“

Ice cold eyes regard me. It hits me, right there, that Malfoy and I have one more thing in common. His eyes mirror his mother's perfectly.

„I haven't seen my son since I was imprisoned.“

I want to groan in frustration, but manage to hold myself back. My fingers are twitchy.

„Do you know where he is?“

„I do not.“ _Obviously_ , her stare tells me. „Do you?“

I feel my mouth open. „No. No, I don't.“

„I'm worried about my son,“ Narcissa says.

„He hasn't contacted you at all?“

„No. That is the reason I'm worried. It isn't like Draco. He... We have a close relationship.“

I'm really not sure if Malfoy would agree, after everything that happened, but I know that he loves her. It does seem strange for him not to visit her. At least get in touch somehow.

„Did you talk to Parkinson?“ I ask her. If she hasn't, that's the first thing I'll do when I leave.

But Narcissa nods. „Yes. She doesn't know where he is, either.“ I'm pinned down by a razor sharp gaze. „Do you believe he is in trouble?“

I hesitate. „I don't know. That's why I'm here.“

„Find him,“ she says.

My brows draw together. „If you really think something happened to him, you can file a report for the Aurors.“

Narcissa blinks, fingers fluttering, if just for a moment.

„My apologies. I didn't intend for my request to sound like an order. I merely... I am very worried about Draco and since I am confined to the Manor, there is unfortunately not very much I'm able to do.“

I didn't know she's not allowed to leave the Manor. I guess it makes sense, kind of, but... I'm just very sure that Narcissa Malfoy would have never followed Voldmort if it hadn't been for her power hungry husband.

„I'll look into it,“ I say, getting up abruptly. Blue-grey eyes follow me. I think Narcissa swallows.

„Thank you. Genuinely.“

I look away.

It feels wrong to accept her gratitude when, deep down, I know I'm not doing this for her at all.

Hermione's office is even more crammed and dark than mine. Despite the small space, everything is neatly organized. Even the post-its on the wall are in perfect order.

„Hey, Hermione,“ I say, stepping through the door, having some trouble closing it without hitting my hip on her desk.

„Harry?“

„Yeah, it's me.“

Hermione smiles and gets up from her desk, fingertips never leaving the smooth, wooden surface as she skirts it to come hug me.

Her wild, frizzy mane tickles my face and I exhale.

„How are you?“ She draws back, face tilted up, but eyes looking at some point above my left shoulder.

Well, they're not really _looking_ , of course. Hermione's eyes have been grey orbs of uselessness for almost two years now.

It happened shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron and I were off duty, after being appointed to full-fledged Aurors in less than a month (they were really desperate, you see, and – what can I say – Ron and I are _really_ good at what we do).

We think it must have been one of the many rogue Death Eaters that recognized us on the street. We never caught them. Or, if we did, they never confessed to shooting a nasty electrifying-hex right into her right eye. St. Mungo's said she's lucky it only took her eyes. She might have become deaf, too.

„All good,“ I say distractedly. „I actually need a favour.“

Hermione sighs and returns to her chair. I straddle the only other chair in the office and look at her pushing her hair back.

„What do you need?“

„I need to find out what happened to Malfoy.“

Hermione's brows lift. „To Malfoy?“

„Yes. After Azkaban.“

„Well – shouldn't you have records on that? We aren't the ones taking care of the former Death Eaters commiting crimes.“

„I don't think Malfoy is a criminal. Anymore.“

„Then where's the problem?“

I shift on my chair and bite the nail of my thumb. „No one's seen him.“

„Since Azkaban?“

„Yes.“

Hermione frowns and adjusts her blouse. „You think he's with us?“

„Is he?“

Hermione's Death-Eater-Charity project is what broke Ron and Hermione off. He couldn't get it. He couldn't even accept it and it got so far that Hermione stopped trying to explain.

If you know Hermione even just a little bit, you also know how much that's saying.

„I don't know. Not that I know of.“

„But you don't know everyone who you help, right?“

Hermione's project (REFF – Reintegration, Education and Fulfillment of Fundamental Needs for former Death Eaters) contains a lot of different stuff she does to help stray Death Eaters. The most thriving invention of hers is definitely the shelter though. Many Ex-Death-Eaters have neither a home nor a job anymore and a fair few also don't have any friends or family to help them. If they're not too proud and prefer starving in the streets, they come to Hermione's shelter. At first, she had strict regulations on who was allowed there and who wasn't (no creatures, no one that served a sentence longer than two months, anyone breaking the rules is expelled immediately and so on), but over the months and years, it got watered down as she realized how _many_ people actually seemed to need her.

Now, her shelter isn't even strictly for Death Eaters only, even though those still make up at least eighty percent of the inhabitants.

To this day, I'm not sure what I think of REFF. I love Hermione, but that doesn't mean I always agree with her and this time... I still have a hard time seeing Death Eaters as people just like you and I. I see the shit they're pulling – and with that I mean, the horrific crimes they're _still_ commiting – on a daily and I just... well. Let's say I think some people are beyond redemption.

Right now though, REFF feels heaven sent.

„Of course I don't know everyone I help. There are lists of everyone who sleeps at the shelter or takes food or anything, really, but I don't read every single one. Also... I'm sure not everyone is written up.“

„Do you think I could take a look at your lists?“

Hermione is silent for a long moment. I try my best not to fidget too much. I know that it puts her off since she's blind.

„You know that I don't want to coorparate with the Aurors. We don't work together.“

„I'm not here for business.“

„Then why are you asking about Malfoy?“

I bite my nail again. Then stop it, because I'm not a bloody toddler.

„No one knows where he is.“

Hermione's voice takes on that slightly condescending tone she always uses on Ron when he bashes REFF. Well, not _quite_ that one. But it's headed there.

„Perhaps he doesn't want to be found.“

„Or maybe he's hurt. His mother is worried about him.“

„You talked to Narcissa?“ Open suprise is displayed on her features.

„Yeah.“

„Okay, wow. You really are worried.“

„I'm not _worried_ , I'm just – well. This might be a crime. I'm an Auror so...“ My voice grows more and more quiet.

Now Hermione's smiling. „Oh, Harry.“

„What?“

She touches her eyebrow, then lets her hand sink, still smiling.

„Nothing. But, yes. I'll give you my lists. You can't take them home though. I don't want them to end up at the Headquarters.“

I almost choke when I actually find Malfoy's name on Hermione's list. It was a couple months ago and it's only been a few days, but he was there.

I assume that means he's okay. He was seeking for help and shelter and then he didn't need it anymore.

Or couldn't ask for it anymore? This list tells me nothings.

I bite my nail again.

There has to be a way to find Malfoy.

I'm sure there is a rational explaination to why I spend two months hanging around Hermione's shelter – every day after work, without fail. I'm there so often, even Ginny notices and she usually doesn't notice when I'm gone.

Usually, I'm in disguise. Most of Voldmorts old followers don't really fancy a chat with the great Harry Potter. They disappear the second the lay eyes on me.

I talk to the inhabitants of the shelter and while I often have to reign in my disgust for the people I meet there, sometimes – sometimes, I hear stories that make my blood run cold.

I'm very used to that feeling. I've seen Death Eaters kill innoccent bystanders without so much as batting a lash. I've seen someone's head being blasted off, I've seen a skinned person, I've seen a child with her guts ripped out.

I've seen a lot.

But all those things I've seen have always been in perfect harmony with my opinion of Death Eaters. They're scum, they're _evil_ , and most of them deserve worse than Azkaban.

Hearing this middle-aged woman tell me about having her baby ripped out of her arms by Aurors, screaming for her little boy while being brought to Azkaban, sitting in her cell for six months, reciting her son's name like a good-luck-charm, only to get out and getting laughed into her face for even asking to get her baby back... it's tough. Confusing.

It's probably better for the child to grow up elsewhere. His mother would probably have fucked him up.

Except – except that it's never better for a child to grow up without parents. They don't have to be their biological parents, but they have to be _theirs_. Not a foster home. Not an orphanage or some relatives. Just theirs.

I would know.

That woman isn't the only one. There's also this man in a wheel chair that swears by the life of his brother that he never fought for Voldemort, but the Aurors didn't believe him.

And then... and then there are the young women – some of them hardly more than girls – who come by the shelter a couple times a week to get some sleep and some food and some hours away from grabby hands, from hard cocks and cruel mouths.

It's while talking to one of those dead-eyes girl-women that, for the first time ever, I think maybe Hermione has been right and Ron has been wrong all along.

And then I become witness of an attempted rape inside the shelter and I'm not so sure anymore.

It's cold, the kind of cold that creeps into your bones and nests there, spreading through your body like spilled coffee over denim.

I don't think that I still believe in finding out anything about Malfoy. So far, no one could remember seeing him. If anyone lied, I didn't notice.

I rub my hands and make sure my disguise is still in check. Today, I'm a pale brunet with hazel eyes. Those are not spelled. I'm using contacts, because spells somehow won't stick with my eyes.

I wade through the large room full of bunk beds, past two girls playing cards, past the couple of junkies going through withdrawals – until, for the first time in here, I see a familiar face.

Theodore Nott. I'm not sure I've ever actually talked to him, but his face still triggers a lot of old, half-buried memories. Quidditch matches against the Slytherins. Wind ringing in my ears, nose ice cold, the smooth wood of my broomstick under my calloused fingers. Malfoy smirking at me across the pitch, confidence embodied.

God, he was such a snarky, sensitive, haughty little brat. I can't believe that I'm smiling while I think that. But he was. I mean, he was the absolute worst.

But he was also a fucking _kid_.

Shaking my head to get rid of those distracting thoughts, I stroll over to Nott who's currently filling a grey plate with pretty much unidentifiable food. His head is bent, dark hair longer than I remember it.

„Hope it doesn't taste as gross as it looks,“ I say, grabbing a plate of my own.

Nott shoots me a look. He's got a scar now. An angry, white slash across his face, splitting his eyebrow and pulling on his lip.

„It always tastes like dog shit. But better than starving.“

I nod and help myself to a small serving.

„I haven't seen you here before,“ Nott says.

„Yeah, I'm new.“ I give him a smile that I hope is neither too bright nor fake. „I'm Brant, by the way.“

Nott regards me for a moment longer. „Theo,“ he finally says.

My heart is beating fast as I follow him to one of the wooden tables. He starts eating the moment his arse hits the chair. It's obvious that his last meal has been a while ago.

„Man, that's good,“ I say and even though the food tastes as horrible as Nott said it would, the warmth in my stomach helps keeping the cold at bay. Plus I'm not a picky eater.

„Yeah,“ Nott agrees. „Fucking cold.“

I let a moment pass, playing with my food. „You've been here for a while?“

A bitter grin is tugging on Nott's lips. „On and off. Can't seem to keep out for more than a couple months.“

I wonder if he's an addict. He doesn't look too terribly wasted, but that doesn't have to mean anything. There are potions that take years to kill you.

„Have you ever seen Draco around here?“ I ask.

It took me some practice until the name fell from my lips easily. But I'm playing an old friend and an old friend wouldn't call Draco _Malfoy_.

Nott lowers his spoon. His sunken eyes gleam with suspicion.

„Draco Malfoy? Why?“

I shrug, faking nonchalance. „I used to be pretty close with him. Haven't seen him in forever.“

Nott shoves another spoonful into his mouth. I wait, even though it's killing me.

„Yeah, Draco's been here a couple times, too. He never mentioned you though.“

I shrug once more, aware I'm treading on thin ice here.

I don't know much about Nott. I don't believe he's belonged to Malfoy's close circle in school, but I can't be sure. They might have been friends.

„I mean, it's not like we'd have been best mates.“

„How do you know each other? I can't remember you from Hogwarts.“

„You wouldn't. I'm twenty-five.“

„Well, then how do you know Draco?“

If I had known I'd run into one of Draco's Slytherin buddies, I would have come up with a whole cover-story, containing shared hobbies and favourites and well thought-out family history.

But I didn't know. So now I have to improvise.

I wreck my brain, and, finally, I remember something Draco told me once.

„We took flying lessons together as children. Before Hogwarts.“

Nott's brows lift, but he's smiling. „Right, Lucius made sure Draco got those. Even though he was way too young.“

I grin back, relieved. „Yeah, exactly. He was good though, too.“

Nott seems to be buying it.

I decide to push foward. „Do you now where he is now?“

Somewhere behind us in the bunk-bed room (I really don't know what else to call it – it's everything in one), a loud noise erupts.

Nott doesn't even flinch. He measures me with his gaze. After a long, long pause, he says: „No, I don't. And, no offense, but if I did, I probably wouldn't tell you. For all I know, you could be an Auror.“

My heart is jolting, but I keep my cool. „Yeah, I get that. It's cool. He's probably not even thinking about me anymore, I just...“

I didn't know I could blush on cue. I'm not sure I could repeat it.

Once again, Nott's brows raise, one higher than the other, tugged down by the scar tissue.

„I see,“ he says. A slow smirk spreads over his lips.

„Um, what?“

„Don't worry,“ Nott goes on, still smirking. „I know Draco's gay.“

My jaw drops. „I – what? He is. Um?“

Nott shakes his head. „Really, it's fine. I never really cared much as long as he kept his hands off me.“

Suddenly, Nott looks at me with blatant curiosity. „So it was you.“

„What?“ I feel gutted. And stupid.

Not good during an interrogation. Even if it's off the records.

„We all knew there'd been someone. But no one ever figured it out. Well, Pansy probably knew.“ Nott's lips curl. „But the cow never told us.“

„I... What are you talking about?“

„Draco's secret crush. I always assumed it was someone in Hogwarts, but... why would it have to be?“

Finally, it clicks. Nott thinks I'm Draco's lover.

Well. I mean. If that helps...

„We kept it a secret,“ I say. „His parents wouldn't have approved.“

Nott snorts loudly. „Yeah, you could say that. Lucius would've probably skinned him alive.“

Knowing that skinning people alive really was a thing amongst Death Eaters doesn't make that statement any less horrid.

„And now you're looking for him,“ Nott says, leaning back in his chair. „How romantic.“

I shrug, avoiding his eyes.

„I really don't know where he is.“ Now, he sounds almost rueful. „He's always been good at running, the little coward.“

I bite my tongue. Nott is not wrong.

„But I do think I know why he stopped coming to the shelter.“ Nott leans closer to me, so close, I can smell the bland soap he uses. Some sweat, too.

„He was turned.“

For the second time during this conversation, my mouth falls open. „What?“

Nott draws back again, avoiding my gaze. „There've been rumours. They might be wrong, but... aren't most rumours true?“

Nott gets up, gathering his plate and cutlery.

„If I were you, I'd probably let it go,“ he says, sounding surprisingly honest. „But if you can't, I'd check out some of those fetish bars they always hang out at.“

„Who? What fetish bars?“

Nott gives me a look. „Hope you're not afraid of blood, mate.“


	3. Finding Draco, Part Two

The sky keeps threatening earth with rain, maybe even a nice thunderstorm, but the little fucker won't follow through with it.

It feels too cold for rain anyway. But too early for snow.

I wrap my arms around myself. This stupid cold is getting to me. You might think Azkaban had toughend me up, but no. I'm still a shivering mess as I approach the yellow lights of the small bar in the middle of nowhere.

Think of the _Oyster_ what you like, but it's always warm in here. Shady and dingy and dangerous, at times, but warm.

As always, I get a couple dark glares as I walk to the bar, unbuttoning my coat. Most of them don't want me here.

Only the regulars know what a mean _Bloody Mary_ I whip up.

„Draco.“ Serena grins at me. She's been here for longer than I have, but she's still dealing with the same shit – if for different reasons.

Most vampires are rather liberal, since every one of them who used to be pureblood has been disinherited and thrown out of their family's home. But that doesn't mean none of them are transphobic.

„Have I missed anything?“ I ask, hanging my coat on the rack, rolling up my sleeves.

Serena flicks her honey blond hair back. „No bodies for us to bury yet, so no.“

I grin. It's not like we'd have to play gravedigger very often, but it has happened before.

The _Oyster_ isn't exactly on the _Prophet's Must Visit_ list, if you catch my drift.

I've only been here for five months, but it already feels like a life time. Every night, something atrocious or fantastical happens, something you'll remember years later and never have I left without shaking my head about the stupidity, cruelty or sheer _animality_ of people.

Yes - to me, creatures are people. I know the Ministry wouldn't agree with me, but when do they ever? A vampire is not a human, sure, but they're a person nonetheless.

„Do you think she needs help?“

„Hm?“ I blink and lift my gaze. Serena is eyeing a rather young woman sitting with a dark-haired vampire of Chinese heritage. We've seen him around quite a lot.

As we're looking, he takes the – rather dazed looking – woman's wrist.

„Knock yourself out,“ I say to Serena and she's gone in a blink.

Technically, we're bartenders, but at the same time, we're also expected to be security.

No one here will call the Aurors. Not even the humans. Just by being here, they incriminate themselves.

I'm filling a crystal glass with firewhisky when he walks in.

Even if I were still human, I'd have recognized him instantly. I don't think it's possible not to.

Harry Potter is quite the character.

It takes me a second to realize he tried to disguise himself. The scar is glamoured, his hair brown instead of jet black. There also seems to be a glamour on his features to distract the eye, but that doesn't work on me.

I almost drop the whiskey bottle. With precision, I put it back in place, spine straight, breath even. My heart is ricocheting in my chest.

I considered obliviating myself many times. Maybe only the letter I sent, maybe everything.

I never did.

Now, I almost wish I would have. I'm not sure I've ever been this embarrassed.

I should probably rather be scared than embarrassed. A top notch Auror just walked in here. Me working here isn't legal.

I consider taking off, but it's too late. He's already seen me. His mouth opens.

Potter has this comical was of showing his surprise. His jaw _literally_ drops. I've never seen anyone else walking around with an open mouth like that, but Potter does. I don't think I've ever told him how ridiculous that looks.

I really should.

He beelines to the bar, apparently oblivious to the room full of horny vampires staring at him. His eyes are on me.

My palms are sweating.

He's wearing a ridiculous jumper that doesn't fit him right and baggy jeans, fabric thin on his knees and crotch. No glasses. I swallow against the dryness in my mouth.

„Draco,“ Potter says and I'm hit by lightening. He stands at the counter and he's staring at me and he just called me _Draco_ as if that was a thing. As if we did that.

We don't.

„Potter.“

„I've been looking for you,“ he says, putting his elbows on the counter. His fingers are calloused, nails bitten. Like a child.

„Really?“

I return my attention to the glass of firewhiskey I was preparing. Drop two ice cubes in there. The liquid sizzles.

„Yeah. I wrote to you. Didn't you get my letters?“

I arch one brow, still not looking at him. „Didn't you get mine?“

I can feel him squirming. I can also feel his body heat from over here, from behind the counter, and I hate myself for it.

„I'm really sorry I didn't answer. It was – complicated.“

„I'm sure.“

Leaving Potter standing, I take the drink to the tall witch who ordered it, instead of just sending it flying there with my wand.

Potter follows me. „Ginny thought she was pregnant.“

I give him a look. Pretend not to be affected.

„When I got your letter, I mean. It just – yeah.“

„Yeah,“ I repeat. Putting down the bottle I just took, I still, meeting Potter's gaze. „What do you want, Potter?“

He blinks. His eyes are still striking. The tiny scar on his left cheekbone waves me hello.

The Gryffindor fiddles with his jumper. „No one knows where you are.“

„Yes, because I don't want them to.“

Potter blinks at me. Swallows. His throat moves. I can never not watch. „I thought you might be hurt.“

A sting goes through my chest. I crush it.

„I'm perfectly fine. Will you hand me to the Aurors now?“

I try to appear calm, bored, even, but I'm not sure it comes across right.

Potter averts his eyes. Shakes his head.

„No. I'll go.“

„Alright.“

He stands there for almost a minute more, before he actually does turn around. I watch him walking away. It's imperative.

I watch him leaving the warmth of the sleazy bar and before I manage to tear my eyes away, I see a vampire following him, quicker than any shadow.

This time, I drop the bottle I was holding.

* * *

I should get sacked, right here, right now. I can't believe how I could have let a vampire pin me against the wall of some grimey, disgusting bar.

He's taller than I am and he smells somewhat good and he's fucking strong. My wand is lying a few feet away from us in the grass.

„Hello, gorgeous,“ the vampire purrs and my instincts tell me that words are wasted here.

I focus and gather my magic, already sizzling in my core, and get ready to blast this vampire off of me.

But before I can, something else does.

Some _one_ else. All I can see is a blur of blond hair and – and wings? Huge, black wings. The vampire finds himself on his arse in the grass, snarling.

„Chill out, blondie,“ he growls. „Didn't know that one was yours.“

„Get the fuck out of here,“ the blond blur snaps. He's got his back to me. I can mostly see wings.

But of course, I don't need to wait for them retreating to know who it is.

„Draco?“

Wingless now, the Slytherin turns around while the vampire takes off, not without one last nasty glance at the two of us.

„Since when do you call me that?“ Draco asks. He can't quite meet my gaze. In the moonlight, his skin looks almost silver.

„You're not a vampire,“ I state.

Draco sneers. „Stunning deduction, Potter.“

„You're... a veela?“

Draco claps in slow motion.

„Bravo. You figured it out.“

I don't know much about creatures. It's usually not the Aurors that have to deal with them, safe for the occasional vampire or sirene killing someone off for fun.   
Veelas are not a species I know much about.

„How?“ I ask.

Draco sneers at me again, but he's also pretty red in his face. And he's shivering.

„What do you mean, how? Veelas are born that way.“

„But – in school? You weren't a veela in school.“

„No. Most of us turn at eighteen.“

„Oh.“

„Yeah. Now, if you excuse me...“ He tries to head back to the front door, but I grab his wrist. His skin is icy under my fingers.

„Thank you,“ I say.

Pale, silvery eyes dart to me.

„I could've handled it myself, but thanks for your help anyway.“

Draco bares his teeth. They're perfect. I've never seen teeth so perfect in my life.

„Of course, Potter. You're basically God, aren't you? There's nothing that can hurt you. You have no fear.“

„I didn't say that. I'm just good with wandless magic.“

The look Draco gives me isn't even angry. It's more one of those... _of-fucking-course_ looks.

„Sure you are. Now, will you excuse me?“

I don't let go of his wrist. I'm aware he could free himself in a nanosecond if he wanted to.

„Are you alright? I know that the laws -“

„Let's not pretend to be friends, yes, Potter?“

I let go of his wrist. „I just thought -“

„Don't.“

„You wrote -“

„I was lonely and desperate and pissed out of my mind. I'm honestly baffled you could even decipher my horrendous writing, I certainly didn't -“

„You wrote you're in love with me.“

Draco pales. I look at him without blinking.

He looks good. Way better than he did in Azkaban. Still a little exhausted, maybe.

And cold. He looks like he's freezing. His lips turn blue.

I cast a wandless _Accio._ Draco startles when my wand snaps into my hand. I cast the strongest warming charm I'm capable of.

Draco's mouth is tight and he meets my eyes when he says: „I obviously didn't mean it.“

„Okay,“ I say. „I'm still sorry.“

He just huffs, or snorts, I'm not sure.

„I have to get back to work.“

„Yeah. Alright. I'll...“

„Yes. Goodbye, Potter.“

He turns before I can say anything and I watch his slender back until he's disappeard into the _Oyster_ again.

It doesn't even occur to me, not even once, not even for a second, not to come back.

„Do you have a death wish?“ Draco glares at me as I slide into one of the high bar stools.

„Sometimes.“

Draco rolls his eyes. „Don't be a drama queen. It doesn't suit you.“

„No, that's your thing, right?“

I feel myself smiling at the glare that's sent my way.

„I am by no means dramatic.“

„Sure. And my name is Roonild Wazlib.“

„What?“

„Nevermind.“

Draco turns his attention back to the cocktail he's currently mixing and I watch his hands. They're big, long-fingered. His wrists are elegant, like carved from marble. I'm mesmerized by the play of muscles in his sinewy forearms.

It takes me a moment to realize the other bartender, a tall woman with beautiful hair, is watching us curiously.

„So, Potter? Why are you here? Don't tell me you're into bloodplay.“

„Bloodplay?“

Draco arches an eyebrow at me. „That's why all the other depraved sluts are here.“

I can feel my face heat. „You think I'm a depraved slut?“

Draco's eyes are cool as they wander over my face. „Who knows? The good guys are usually the freakiest.“

My face grows even hotter. „I have a girlfriend.“

„That's surprising.“

A bucket of ice water has just been dropped into my stomach. My heart is racing and my fingers are itching to draw my wand. Just to regain some sense of control.

„Why is that surprising?“

Draco throws me a curious look. „I thought you'd be married by now. At least engaged.“

My heartbeat slows a bit.

The corners of my mouth turn downward. „You and the rest of the world.“

Draco cocks a brow, flicking his wand. The cocktail mixes itself and floats over to one of the guests.

„Sore spot?“

I bristle. „Not at all. I just – I mean, no one marries at twenty, right? That's just – very young. I'm very young. To be married, I mean.“

Suddenly, I realize that probably most of the room can hear me. My face, just cooled, heats up again.

„Many people marry young.“

„Well, Ginny and I won't. Not _that_ young, at least.“

„So you're planning to propose?“

I stare at Draco. Two buttons of his shirt are open. I get a glimpse at a very fine collarbone. It looks regal, just like the rest of Draco.

„I'm not _planning_ to propose. I will plan it, I suppose – someday, but not now.“

My brows furrow. „What about you?“ I ask challengingly. „Married yet?“

Draco is glaring again. It's a less attractive look than when his face is soft but it's still, well – attractive.

„Veelas don't marry, Potter.“

„They don't?“

Draco shakes his head, avoiding my gaze now. „Creatures aren't allowed to.“

„Oh. That sucks.“

With an elegant hitch of one shoulder, Draco moves on to the next drink in need of preparing.

„It's fine. I probably wouldn't have married anyway.“

„Why not?“

I get a piercing stare. „No money for a grand celebration. And without the luxury, where's the fun in it?“

I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. „I don't think you should marry someone for _fun_.“

„Oh, do you? Why should one marry, then?“

„For love, right?“

Draco snickers, amused. „That's not how I was raised, but sure, Potter. Whatever you say.“

„Do you have a girlfriend?“ I ask. Suddenly, I'm very curious.

Or maybe it's not all that sudden. I've actually been wondering for a while.

For some reason, Draco seems to find that question amusing.

„I do not. And I probably never will.“

I blink, lifting my chin. „You're not _that_ ugly.“

Now, Draco actually snickers. „No, but I'm _that_ gay.“

His grey eyes are sparkling with amusement at the look on my face. My heart is beating too fast and my skin feels too tight.

„Are you having me on?“

Draco's face changes. The amusement is gone.

He inclines his head. Suddenly, his eyes are dangerous. There is something in them – a blackness that doesn't seem natural.

I think I only realize now that this Draco is not the Draco I used to know. He's changed.

„I am certainly not.“

„Oh. Okay. Cool, um – that's cool.“

The sneer is back on his face. „Is there a problem, Potter?“

I shake my head, heart still pounding. „No, no. Of course not. Really. I was just surprised. Sorry. It's not a big deal.“

Silver eyes are studying my face. „You're babbling,“ he finally says.

Desperate to change the topic, I say: „Your mother is looking for you.“

Draco stills. „You spoke to my mother?“

„Yes, I -“

I gasp as Draco's fingers curl around my collar. The grip is too strong. Stronger than a human's grip could ever be.

„What did you do to her? Did you motherfuckers put her back into Azkaban?“

„No, we didn't. I told you, I was looking for you. That's why I visited her.“

His eyes are searching mine. I think I could still push him away with my magic, despite his strength, but I don't think I need to. I think it's fine.

I think he can feel my heartbeat.

As suddenly as he grabbed me, he lets go of me again.

„How is she?“ he asks, eyes downcast.

„Alright, I think. She misses you. And she's worried.“ I pause. „Why aren't you talking to her?“

Draco takes his time with the answer. „She doesn't know. About me.“

Gently, I probe: „She doesn't know you're a veela?“

Draco just nods.

„You think she'd care?“

„Yes.“

He sounds so certain that I don't question him.

„Well, she really wants to see you.“

Draco makes a nondescript noise, then says sharply: „I don't want you to talk to her again.“

„I wasn't going to. We're not exactly best buddies.“

The blond looks at me as if he wasn't sure if he should take offense or not.

„Alright, then. Good.“

We're silent for a while. I watch him preparing drinks, his shirt stretching over his chest, revealing pale skin, whenever he reaches up. Veela genes must have made him prettier. I'm sure he didn't used to look like that. He wasn't – _pretty_. He wasn't ever pretty.

Suddenly, I remember the allure. The veela allure that caused Ron to make a complete fool out of himself in front of Fleur.

„Are you messing with my mind?“

Draco's gaze darts to me. His hand hovers midair.

„Excuse me?“

„Your veela. The allure, I mean. Is it – does that make me...?“

I wish I hadn't said anything the second Draco tilts his head and stares at me.

„Makes you what, Potter?“

_Think you're pretty. Want to lick your collarbones._

„Nothing.“

A dark smirk spreads over Draco's face.

„I have my allure under control. No need to be concerned.“

I just nod. My throat is tight.

Draco goes back to making drinks and I go back to watching him.

„Sometimes I think about it,“ I say. Looking at my hands now.

„About what?“ Draco's lashes are pale. Almost invisible, except when they catch the light just so. Then they look like pure gold.

„Azkaban.“

His mouth tightens. „Me too. Funny how that works, remembering the worst times of your life.“

„It wasn't for me.“

Cold cloudy eyes pierce me. „Well, good for you, Potter.“

I swallow. „Why do you hate me again?“

Draco turns away, shoulders drawn up. „I don't hate you. I simply don't care.“

„You're lying.“

I'm not scared when Draco spins, his eyes darker than they should be, snarling at me.

„I thought we were... friends. Somewhat,“ I say.

Draco's eyebrows almost disappear into his fringe. He puts the crystal bottle down with deadly finality.

„Friends don't ignore each other for years, Potter.“

The unspoken hangs between us. _Friends don't tell you they're in love with you_.

„I wasn't ignoring you for years. I only ignored one letter.“

„You pretended you didn't know I had been released.“

I bite my lip.

„Only because of Ginny.“

Draco swallows thickly. For a moment, he's the same bratty, insecure little boy I remember from school. From Azkaban, even.

„Then you should go be with her.“

„I am with her. But that doesn't mean we can't be friends, does it?“

The little boy is gone again.

„But I think it does.“

I open my mouth to protest, my heart slamming against my ribcage. But Draco is quicker than I am.

„You should leave now.“

„Are you sure?“

„Very much so.“

When I don't move, he turns around briskly and refuses to look at me until I do. Pretending I'd already be gone.

During the time of Ron and Hermione's fallout, Ginny was my anchor.

While my best friends almost tore each other to pieces because Hermione could forgive the Death Eaters for what they did to her and Ron just couldn't, I slept in Ginny's bed and we told each other what we'd name our kids.

We never talked about marriage. It was understood, as it was understood that we'd grow old together.

For a long time, it was the only thing that grounded me, that got me up in the mornings. Knowing I had Ginny and that she'd never leave me, I soldiered through Ron and Hermione's fights, Hermione's tears when her blindness dragged her under, Ron's drinking and cussing and tantrums.

I can't pinpoint the moment things changed. I'm still not entirely sure they really have.

All I know is that Ginny stopped sleeping in my bed every night to go flying with the Harpies and have night outs at pubs I didn't know, laughing with people who I didn't know and visiting countries I'd never been to.

And while she did that, I started visiting Draco in Azkaban. At first, because I felt guilty. Then because I felt curious.

And in the end because I had to. I don't know how else to explain it. I just had to come back to him, over and over again.

I know that the Draco-chapter of my life should be closed now. It's all wrapped up. I forgave him and I think he's forgiven me too. He's out of Azkaban and seems to be doing okay.

It's over. He doesn't need me anymore. Not like he did when he was alone in his cell, face lighting up everytime I walked in.

I want to have that again. I want him to need me so bad.

Sometimes, when I lie in bed alone, Ginny gone again, I start plotting schemes to get Draco arrested again. Then I scream into my pillow.

„Again?“

My heart is pounding. Draco looks like he might rip me to pieces. Which would be weird, since he just prevented another vampire from doing exactly that.

The night is humid and it's still too hot, even though the sun is long gone. The stench of alcohol clashes with the fresh smell of wild grass.

It's the third time in only four months.

I just keep coming back.

„Can you fly?“

Draco bares his teeth at me. Those perfect teeth. He's breathing too hard.

I know that sprouting those wings of his always riles him up. Saving me riles him up.

„What do you think wings are for?“

I push myself off the dirty brick wall, blinking up at Draco. He's really not much taller than me, but he _seems_ taller. Especially when he's angry like he is right now.

He always is with me.

„Do you?“

„So some Auror can shoot me from the sky? No thank you.“

„I don't think Aurors attack harmless veelas.“

Draco laughs, head thrown back. His throat is long and pale.

„How many more vampires do I need to take down before you get it into your thick skull that I'm not harmless?“

I'm not sure if Draco knows that I could have taken out every single one of those vampires by myself.

„Just because you're strong doesn't mean you want to cause harm.“

„Don't be so sure about that, Potter.“

I want him to call me Harry. I don't know how to make him.

Draco averts his gaze.

„Is this... Why do you keep doing this? I don't like it, you know.“ He looks up, silver eyes burning, but in a different way than usually. „I don't like transforming into that – that thing.“

„Then why do you?“

He hisses, crossing his arm, gaze hardening. „Because you fucking _make_ me.“

„I'm not making you do anything. Those vampires can't harm me. You don't have to protect me.“

I'm sure he knows I provoke them. It sometimes takes me hours until I manage to make one of them snap.

„Yes, I do.“

„Why?“ My heart is hammering in my chest.

Draco doesn't answer me. Instead, he disappears into the night. Soundlessly.

As he does.

I break up with Ginny because she cheats on me. I think she cheats on me to make me break up with her.

I guess I should be thankful for her letting me be the _good_ guy.

But I'm not thankful. I yell at her and then I disappear on her and sleep on Ron's couch for two weeks, before starting to look for a flat of my own.

I'm drifting. I want her _back_.

Ron is as devastated as I am, which doesn't make it any better.

„You got to fight for her,“ he says, looking at me accusingly.

„I broke up with her.“

„Yeah, but – not really, right? Forgive her.“

„She doesn't want me to.“

„She does! You two are endgame.“

That's why I can't sleep at night. Yeah we are. We've always been.

Hermione tells me to give her time.

„Maybe you can try again, after a bit of maturing... Maybe it just wasn't the right time.“

I cling to her words like a drowning man to his life line.

* * *

I know this time is going to be different the moment Harry walks into the bar. Tonight, I won't have to pry a horny vampire off of him.

He's not here for that.

„Potter,“ I say, trying to sound casual. I hope he can't tell I'm freaking out.

„Will you make me a drink?“

I look at him, sitting on one of our high bar stools, face so soft in the dim light. 

He's never asked that before.

„Will you pay?“

„Do you want me to?“

I make him a drink. He takes a sip. I pretend not to watch him. Serena looks at me, brows raised. When she makes an obscene gesture with her hands, I blush.

„Not looking for a fight tonight?“ I ask casually, pulse thrumming.

„I broke up with Ginny.“

The bottle slips through my fingers. I just barely catch it before it shatters on the ground.

„I'm not coming to your pity party.“

Green eyes won't leave my face. I turn away, my back to him. My hands are shaking.

I have to kick him out. Now. Right now.

I look over to Serena, but she's busy with a customer, not catching my gaze.

„Draco.“

„What?“

Part of my already surrendering, I turn back. To Potter.

„Come outside with me.“

I laugh at him. I know he knows it's fake. My blood is boiling.

The veela inside me is speading her wings. She's roaring. 

I press a hand to my belly. Willing the heat to go.

„Do I have to find a vampire to attack me first?“ There is the hint of a smile in Potter's voice.

My mouth tightens.

I have no choice.

Without even telling Serena, I leave the bar. I follow Potter across the room. My world narrows to nothing but him.

I don't know why we keep facing each other behind this shady, grimey bar. Maybe Potter has a thing for dirty brick walls.

His eyes are flashing at me.

„Now what, Potter?“ 

I intended to spit it at him, but it comes out low and hoarse. I'm half-hard already.

He steps closer. Close enough for me to feel his heat.

White spots are dancing in front of my eyes. I can't breathe.

„I thought...“ He lifts his hand. Puts it on my chest.

We both inhale sharply. My gaze burns into his.

„You thought what?“

Potter swallows hard. I think he's scared.

But I also think he...

„I want you,“ he says and my mouth opens. I'm so fucking hard, it hurts.

I can see the pulse thrumming in Potter's neck. He looks more vulnerable than I ever seen him.

And fucking determined.

Bloody fucking Gryffindor.

He steps even closer. Tilts his head. We're breathing the same air.

Heat is surging through me.

„Do you want me?“ he whispers.

„Fuck, Potter.“

He kisses me, almost as if he'd never kissed anyone before. Shy. Timid.

But I can't do timid with him.

With a growl, I push him against the wall. His arms wrap around me, one hand in my air. He moans as his back hits the wall. I put a hand to his neck, tilting it, my tongue in his mouth. He moans for that, too.

„You're killing me,“ I say between kisses. He bites my bottom lip and I slam him against the wall again, one leg pushing between his thighs.

I'm lost. I can't think.

I lick into his mouth and grind against him, rock-hard, aching. He keens a little, low in his throat, head falling back. I bite his neck, suck bruises into it. When I kiss his jaw, he sighs.

„Fuck, I want you. _Draco_.“

Wild with want, I shove a hand into his pants. He groans when I cup his bulge. His pants are wet with precum.

„I want to fuck you,“ I say into his ear, my voice low and almost sweet. „Right here.“

Potter stills.

„I -“

Sensing a change in his demeanor, I push the growling veela down and pull back enough to be able to look into his voice.

His eyes are wide and very bright. He looks uncertain. Almost scared.

„You mean...?“

I study his face. It dawns on me.

I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. I know the She-Weasel has been his only relationship so far.

But Potter is always _better_ than I am. He always bests me. Everything I do, he can do better.

That's probably why.

„Are you a virgin, Potter?“ I ask, grinning.

He glares at me. „No! Just – I mean, I'm not...“

He's blushing furiously. Before I can stop myself, I nudge his nose with mine.

„Want me to blow you?“

His breath quickens.

„Yeah.“

I sink to my knees, heartbeat too fast. When I pull his pants down, Potter stops breathing.

Me too, if just for a moment.

Potter is skinny. I don't know why that suprises me. You might think I've looked at him often enough to tell.

But something about Potter always makes him seem so much more... imposing than he actually is.

I stare at him, the jut of his bony hips, his hard erection, the sinewy thighs.

„What?“ His voice sounds a little broken. He looks down at me. His hands are fidgeting. The nails are bitten down to the quick.

He's embarrassed.

I thought I'm an expert in anything Potter. I thought I had him all figured out.

But I don't.

I smirk up at him and lean in, kissing his thighs. His eyes flutter shut. I love how his mouth is open, hard, little pants escaping his lips.

„Please,“ he says, voice higher than normally. He's _wrecked_ , and I haven't even really started yet.

„You like that?“ I murmur. „Me on my knees for you?“

I kiss the tip of his dick and Potter lets out a broken moan.

„Please.“

„Is that why you even visited me in the first place?“

I'm not sure why I'm talking about that right now. It shouldn't matter. Nothing should matter, except for the surreality of me being about to suck Potter off.

„Do you want it?“ I ask, just because I want him to say _please_ once more.

„Fuck, yeah. I want you. Draco, please.“

A tight heat coils in my belly and I open my mouth and start sucking him.

I wouldn't say I'm an expert in sucking dick. I've done it a couple times before, but not that often. I usually see it as a chore.

Not with Potter though. I'm pretty sure I'd let him piss on me if that was what he wanted to do. I'd kiss his feet, anything.

Anything for him.

I'm so fucked.

But I don't stop. Of course I don't stop.

He's coming too fast, because I don't have it in me to tease him and I swallow everything, even though I know I shouldn't.

He doesn't taste good (cum rarely does), but feeling his spunk run down my throat still turns me on.

I rise as gracefully as I'm able to and Harry is staring at me, mouth open. He takes me by my shirt and before I can wipe my mouth or say something mocking, he pulls me in and kisses me and kisses me, hanging on to me. The kisses are different now – little kitten kisses all over my mouth. His tongue flicks out and retreats, doesn't slip into my mouth.

I press him against me and it's hard to tell where he ends and I begin. His mouth is hot on my neck when he whispers: „How can I get you off?“

My throat tightens. My cock draws up hard.

I can't remember ever being so fucking turned on.

„However you like,“ I manage to get out, still fighting the urge to just grab him, push him up against the wall and have my way with him.

Nervous, curious hands are roaming my sides, touching my hips.

„No, I want – What do you want me to do?“

I capture his chin in my hand and press a kiss to his lips. Trying to ignore the tight heat his words evoked in my body.

„Get on your knees. I want you to blow me.“ I make my voice soft, hoping to convey that, of course, he can say no.

Not that he couldn't just blast me through the wall of the bar if he felt like it.

Or can he? Suddenly, I'm not sure. When I was still just a wizard, it's no question who the stronger one of us was.

Now though... I'm not sure.

Harry kneels before me and I think I might faint with lust. He peers up at me through his thick lashes.

„I'll probably be bad at this,“ he says, cheeks tinged pink.

I honestly believe that it doesn't matter what he's about to do – I could come from this alone.

He struggles with my trousers and I help him pushing them down. I swallow, once, twice.

I know I'm attractive. Being naked doesn't make me insecure.

Except, apparently, when it's Potter judging.

But he seems to be quite pleased with what's on offer and leans in slowly. I grit my teeth not to tell him to fucking _get to it_.

I wind a hand into his raven hair and he sighs, quietly.

„Are you just going to look?“ I ask and I know my voice is rough, hoarse with want.

When Potter's tongue makes contact with the head of my prick, my head thuds back against the wall.

The blow job is sloppy and when Potter tries to deep throat, he gags, pulling off almost immediately.

I don't give a damn. I come into his mouth and he swallows it like I swallowed his and my brain is wiped blank.

I help him get up, my thighs shaking.

He presses close, chest to chest and starts nosing my neck. I blink, one hand lightly on his lower back, staring over his shoulder.

„So,“ I say finally, when I trust my voice to carry again. „That was interesting.“

„Hm-hm.“ Potter is still busy... smelling me, as it seems, and all I want is to gather him close and then drag him with me and never let him out of my shabby bed again.

But I can't. I know I can't.

But I did just get sucked off by Harry fucking Potter. A slow, unbelieving grin spreads over my features. I hide it when Potter pulls back enough to look at me. He puts his hands under my shirt, palms pressed against my belly, fingers stroking.

I blush furiously.

„What are you doing?“

He pulls his hands back. They're fidgeting again.

„I don't know,“ he admits, because he must not tell lies. It says so on his hand.

I wonder who put those scars there. Likely not Potter himself.

„This probably shouldn't happen again,“ I say.

Potter nods. „Probably.“

He kisses me one more time. „I'll see you around.“

Then he leaves and I know that I just made a mistake, but I can't help but think it was well worth it.

  
  



	4. The Affair

The first time Harry comes back to the bar, we end up exchanging rushed handjobs behind the building, panting into each other's necks. I think it's more or less an accident.

But it's not. Because after that, Harry comes back again. And this time, he wants to see my flat.

„What? Why?“ I almost drop the drink I'm about to send to one of the guests.

Harry shrugs. „I don't like shagging in public.“

„We've never shagged.“

Green eyes slide away. He can't look me in the eyes. My chest is already burning.

„Some people would call that shagging.“

„I don't. But whatever you like.“

„I'd like to fuck you on a bed.“

I give him a look. Flick my wand and send the drink across the room to the waiting witch.

„Alright.“

Harry's face brightens. „Yes?“

„If you can wait twenty more minutes until my shift is over.“

Harry smiles widely. „Yeah. I can.“

My flat isn't anything to be proud of. It's small and run-down and I'd be ashamed if I wasn't so busy watching Harry.

It's the first time we get naked together and watching him crawl under my sheets is a sight to behold.

It goes very differently from what I expected. Instead of urgent pulling on my clothes and heated coupling on all fours, things start out slow.

Harry kisses me with the sheets pulled over both of us. It takes me a while to coax his tongue out of his mouth.

Our hands are both nervous as we explore each other's body under the sheets, his skin hot and damp in places.

When I start stroking Harry, he pulls back, lying on his side, facing me. I mirror him, even though my cock is still throbbing.

„Have you?“ Harry asked.

„Had sex?“

„With a boy.“

I nod and reach out to carress his face. He pulls me close and we're kissing again.

It takes a while of awkward fumbling and awkward questions until I realize that we won't be shagging tonight, either.

„I could ride you,“ I suggest, thumb stroking over Harry's nipple, making him arch.

But he shakes his head, flushed bright red.

„Sorry,“ he says, very quietly. I kiss him again.

„Don't be an idiot, Potter.“

We end up coming over each other's belly, rutting up against one another, biting at each other's mouth.

Afterward, Harry puts his head on my chest and I card a hand through his hair, on the edge of falling.

It becomes a thing. Harry will come by, sometimes have a drink first, sometimes just dragging me out of the bar.

I'll side-along him to my flat and we have sex. Then we'll sleep or we'll talk and then Harry will leave.

I never ask him to stay. I can't. If he'd say no, I'm not sure I could bear opening my door for him again.

But I also can't bear _not_ to let him in, so I don't ask.

Only after a month of hooking up and a huge amount of sweettalk, Harry allows us to progress from blowjobs and handjobs and rutting against each other like fumbling teenagers.

„Why is that so difficult for you?“ I ask into his ear, kissing his neck, caressing his hips.

He's shaking already.

„I – I.“

„You?“

I lift my head and kiss his lips. His erection presses against my belly.

„I'm ashamed.“

I frown lightly and stop kissing him.

„Of doing it to me? Because I told you, you can. I've bottomed before.“

Harry doesn't look at me. „I don't want to do it to you.“

Never have I ever wished more to be a better Legilimens.

But maybe it's good I'm not. If I were, I would've shamelessly abused my power right now.

„Are you afraid it'll hurt?“

Harry shrugs, still not looking at me.

A wave of tenderness, of protectiveness, of – of – washes over me.

I press a chaste kiss to his lips.

„I won't ever hurt you.“

Finally, Harry looks up at me. „And you... won't laugh, either?“

I blink, utterly confused. „Laugh?“

Harry is blushing again, but this time, he holds my gaze. „At me.“

I'm still not sure I understand what he's afraid of, but I lean down and kiss him again.

„I'll be too busy keeping from coming to laugh at you,“ I say.

I nose at his neck, lick his skin. Harry sighs.

„Let me, Potter,“ I murmur, kissing his skin, open-mouthed.

He shudders. Then I feel him giving in. He nods, tentatively. Spreads his legs wide enough for me to reach between them.

I wandlessly slick my fingers and slip them behind his balls, further back. He's tense, but doesn't push away.

The pad of my finger presses against his entrance and white-hot desire shoots through me. I rub him gently until he stops clenching, until I can feel his tight hole flutter. Open for me.

I slowly work one finger into him. Harry is quieter than usually, clinging to me. His skin damp with sweat.

I kiss him everywhere I can reach.

„You feel so good,“ I tell him. He sighs. His whole body is shaking.

When I brush his prostate for the first time, his jaw drops, eyes widening. He lets out a harsh exhale, arching his back.

„Oh God,“ he breathes, fingers digging into my skin.

I fuck him with only one finger, watching him falling apart under me, face flashing, moaning continuously.

„You're doing so well for me,“ I blab, unable to keep from dragging my mouth over his skin.

„So pretty. You're so gorgeous.“

I feel his legs tensing, thighs quivering. I start rocking against him to give his (and my) neglected prick some much needed friction.

„Sweetheart,“ I murmur and he comes. Just like that, he comes on a soundless cry, clutching at me for dear life.

Letting him go that night is difficult. I try blaming it on the veela, that I can't let Harry leave. She wants to keep him in my bed, safe and protected. She wants me to claim him, again and again – claim him properly. She wants me to kiss him senseless.

To be honest, I'm not sure if it's just the veela.

The first time Harry lets me fuck him is a little awkward. It takes forever to enter him because he can't make himself relax. He's stiff as a board under me.

„Do you want to be on top?“ I ask him, still only able to get one finger inside him.

I hate myself for being turned on by his shyness. Because it's not just shyness. Harry is actually scared. Not of pain, I don't think.

I think he's scared of liking this too much. Scared of what it says about him.

Somehow, I can't get it through to him that it says nothing at all about who he is.

He shakes his head, closing his eyes.

I go down on him, rim him until he's finally loosening up, until I can get at least two fingers into his bashful opening.

„I'm ready,“ he says but he's not. He tells me three more times, then I give in.

Despite my careful preparation, I can tell that I hurt him when I push in. I almost bliss out from the pleasure of having his tight heat engulfing me.

He turns his head away, eyes shut, cheek pressed again the pillow.

I wait for him too adjust, turning his face toward me by his chin, shaking with want.

„Look at me.“

He finally does. I lock our fingers next to his head. Harry's lips part and then he nods one time. „Move, Draco.“

I do. I'm as gentle and slow as I'm able to, telling him he's gorgeous. How good he feels.

I come inside him and he stops breathing, staring up at me in awe. I pull out and suck him off, two fingers shoved into his swollen, fucked-red hole. He comes quickly, fingers fisted into my hair.

The second time we fuck is easier and the third time, Harry allows me to roll him over and fuck him tight and fast from behind.

He comes before I do, screaming his release.

Afterward, we're snuggled up together. I pet his back. Kiss his hair.

„You never looked at guys before?“ I ask, quietly.

Harry takes his time with the answer. „I think I have. But I didn't realize.“

„Do you think you're gay?“

He shakes his head, tentatively. „I really liked sleeping with Ginny.“

A sharp dagger stabs my chest. I hold him tighter against me, breathing through the jealousy. I know it's the veela, hightening this primal urge.

Harry kisses my collarbone.

„What did you want to do? Before, I mean.“

„For work?“

„Yes.“

I let my hand run down his back, briefly cup his buttock, then over his thigh, up to his knee.

„I wanted to be a designer, actually.“

„For what?“

I shrug, stroking his thigh. I can feel his cock twitch against my belly and smile.

„Maybe an interior designer. Or brooms. Or even an architect.“

„You can't do that now?“

I catch him by his thighs and manhandle him into position, straddling me, my erection nuding his crack. I scoot up the bed a little, until I'm half sitting, half lying.

Harry kneels up obediently and I pull him down onto my cock, maybe a little too quickly. He gasps, hands on my chest.

I grasp his hips firmly, moving him on my cock. He's panting, tight little moans escaping his mouth.

„Fuck, I love when you do that.“

I know he does. I've never seen anyone wanting to please as badly as Harry does.

If he had his way, I'm pretty sure he'd make me beat him black and blue and then fuck him to tears.

But I won't do that. I'm rather sure I can't hurt him.

A little bit of manhandling on the other side though... that's not a problem. No, that's not a problem at all.

„No,“ I say, tugging him to me hard. „I can't do that now.“

Harry moans, leaning back, hands grabbing my legs for balance.

Only when we've both come, I ask: „What did you want to do?“

Harry blinks up at me. „What do you mean? I'm an Auror.“

„You never wanted to do anything else?“

Harry turns onto his back. I lightly stroke his belly. As always, he leans into my touch.

It's one of the things I've learned since our first _encounter_ behind the bar.

Harry likes to be touched. He _loves_ it. It doesn't really matter where and how, if it's sexual or innoccent, he loves it all. I've never done this much petting and stroking and caressing in my life.

„I – well.“ He snuggles closer to me, shifting until he can tuck his head under my chin. I hold it there with one hand, kissing the top of his head. „I guess I never really thought about it.“

„Do you like your job?“

Harry hesitates. „Sometimes.“

„And sometimes not?“

„Yeah. Sometimes not.“

„Seriously, Draco. What are you doing?“ Pansy looks at me and not even the mug printed with _Morning, my lovely little sunshine_ can make her less menacing.

I sink deeper into the cushions of her couch.

„I'm shagging Harry.“

Pansy arches a brow and saunters over, arraying herself next to me.

Her flat is nicer than mine, if not as nice as it certainly would have been, had her parents not decided to trust a snake-faced maniac.

„It's Harry now?“

I roll my eyes, trying my very best not to blush. „I sometimes put my penis into his bum. I feel like we're on a first name basis.“

„He lets you fuck him?“

I glare at her. „So what? Does that make any difference at all?“

She takes a sip from her coffee. „I suppose not.“

I take the cup out of her hands. Pansy's coffee is the best of all. Even better than Hogwarts coffee.

„So, how does it feel, being Harry Potter's secret little shag?“

„Pretty fucking good.“

I can't meet her eyes when she arches her brows at me like she's doing now. „I highly doubt that, Draco. Even if you weren't a veela now.“

I swallow thickly and turn away. „I can distinguish between the beast and myself.“

„I don't think it matters if you can.“

She takes her mug back, but doesn't drink. Instead, she gives me her most intense look.

„Let's not pretend, Draco. We both know you're whipped.“

„I am _not_.“

She just keeps looking at me until I cave. „Alright, yes. I might have a thing for Potter. But that doesn't mean -“

„That doesn't mean you're going to be heartbroken when he finally has enough of your cock? Because I think it means exactly that.“

I scoot away from her, mouth tight.

„Darling.“ Pansy's voice has grown softer. „I'm not saying this to hurt you. But I know you're never thinking clearly when it comes to him.“

„So what if I'm not? I get to _fuck_ him, Pans. He tells me – he tells me things. About himself. We have something.“

„Love, you must know that you can't ever be more than just a bit on the side for him.“

I know, I really do know that she isn't trying to be cruel. She's just telling me the truth. Which makes it so much worse.

„You even refuse to let people know _we_ are _friends_. Because you're afraid how it will reflect on me. How do you think it's going to be with Potter?“

I lift my chin.

„I'm not an idiot, Pansy. I know that we're never going to be – We'll never be something more. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy what we have.“

Pansy's dark eyes are sad as she reaches out and pets my shoulder.

„I'm afraid it _does_ mean that. You'll always want more, Draco. Stop trying to fool yourself.“

„Tell me something you're afraid of.“

Harry's voice is quiet, my body curled around his. We can both hardly move after fucking each other's brains out the way we did. First up against the wall (my super strength driving Harry absolutely _wild_ ), then on all fours. I still vividly remember how reluctant Harry was in the beginning to even let me finger him. 

Now he begs me to take him hard and then allows me to lick him clean when I'm finished.

I dare say, I quite like this change of heart.

There are many things I'm afraid of. But the only person who knows most, if not all, those things is Pansy.

Showing fear is weakness.

But Harry already let himself be weak with me. He showed me his fear and trusted me not to take advantage of it.

I think that's why I say, very quietly: „Being alone.“

He doesn't turn to me, but puts a hand over mine, resting on his chest.

„Being alone?“

„Yes.“

I don't want to explain how scared I get whenever Pansy meets someone new. How I think she'll forget me and no one would care if I died tomorrow.

I definitely don't want to tell Harry that every time I so much as think about him leaving me, I feel like throwing up.

„And you?“ I ask, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck „What are you scared of?“

„The same,“ Harry whispers, without missing a beat. „And... letting people down.“

The latter one was easy, I guess. But Harry isn't finished. „Also small spaces.“

He laughs, uncomfortable. „I guess I'm scared of a lot of things.“

„Good thing then you're such a brave, brawny Gryffindor,“ I drawl, nipping on his ear.

Harry elbows me. „I'm not brawny.“

„But you'd love to be.“

He turns in my arms, grinning up at me, challenge in his eyes. „Not if that meant you couldn't fuck me against walls anymore.“

I growl and roll on top of him, pinning his arms down. „I'm a fucking veela, Potter. I can still fuck you against walls when you're two hundred pounds of muscle.“

Harry laughs, eyes crinkling, and something deep in my chest aches.

I rush into the _Oyster_ a little breathlessly. I'm ten minutes late. I _hate_ being late. It's disrespectful.

And yet, despite already being awfully late, I stop dead in my tracks.

Harry is already there, sitting at the bar. His baggy jeans are riding low on his hips, exposing a sliver of his lower back. He's leaning forward, laughing about something Serena just said.

My coworker catches my gaze and winks. Slowly, I join them.

Harry grins up at me and it takes me all my willpower not to kiss him in front of everyone.

„You never told me how sweet he is, Drake,“ Serena says, winking at me.

„I don't brag,“ I say with dignity.

Harry snorts loudly. „No, you would _never_.“

„Shut up.“

Serena laughs and Harry grins at me.

Harry stays for my whole shift. Once, a vampire hits on him and quickly aborts the mission when he's faced with my anger. Harry smiles softly at me and finally, I realize that he really doesn't need me to fight off any vampires for him. He doesn't need me to.

But he _likes_ when I do it.

Harry likes to be cared for. I don't know why it took me so long to piece that together. It's so obvious.

Many of what he likes me to do to him stems from that simple desire. To be cared for, to be cherished.

To be _loved_.

He wants to be made feel safe, even though he doesn't necessarily need any protection.

„Come with me.“ I take his hands and pull him behind me, out of the bar. I kiss him when I side-along him.

He laughs against my lips as we land in the middle of my tiny, shabby flat. 

„You going to fuck me on the carpet?“ Harry asks, arms loosely draped around my neck.

We've done that before. I had to heal the rug burns on Harry's arms afterward.

„No,“ I say and then I lift him, his legs wrapping around my waist, and carry him to my bed.

I wish I had silken sheets and rose petals and champagne. Sue me. It's what I feel like right now.

It's what I feel like with Harry.

We're undressing slowly, Harry matching my pace. He likes to follow.

It makes sense. For someone who is always expected to lead, it must be heaven to just be able to shut off his brain and let someone else take care of it.

Just as it is heaven for someone who never has any say in what happens with his life to finally gain control over a situation.

We're naked together for the the umpteenth time, but I don't think it'll ever get old.

„Turn around, darling,“ I say and Harry does.

I rim him until he comes rutting against the mattress. When I slide into him, all loose and relaxed, he sighs.

I make love to him in my one-room flat, the window open, the smell of trees and smoke and trash wafting inside.

I know I've made love to Harry before, but I would have never used the words to describe it.

I don't give a fuck anymore.

I love Harry. I have for such a long time now.

He comes when I'm deep inside him and then he doesn't want to let me go and so I don't. I stay inside him forever, not moving, kissing and kissing him, until he tells me he wants me to come, that he wants me to use him, that he'd do anything for me.

After, we're so exhausted, we fall asleep without even casting any cleaning charms.

In the morning, Harry is still there.

I bought a cake for Harry's birthday. I would've made it myself, but I know I can't cook or bake for the life of mine.

I also buy champagne and I buy those silken sheets. I buy strawberries because Harry likes those and a silver key chain. A bird. Nothing remarkable – he'll be able to wear it and no one will no it's from me.

Except for him.

The whole day, I'm giddy and excited. And broke (bartenders aren't really meant to be buying silken sheets, at least not those working at the _Oyster_ ).

Harry doesn't meet me at the bar like usually, but I'm not surprised. I know his friends are having a party for him and he'll probably come over late.

That's fine. I can wait.

And wait, I do.

I wait when I eat dinner from a pan, drawing mindless little doodles into my sketchbook.

I wait when I try reading a book.

I wait when I have to recast the cooling charm on the champagne for the third time.

I'm still waiting when the clock strikes midnight. He should be coming soon.

At one AM, I'm worried if he might come over too drunk to have sex. Which would be fine, except that I was really looking forward to giving him the best birthday sex he's ever had.

At two AM, I'm starting to wonder if it might get _very_ late. His party seems to be good.

At five AM, I have to admit to myself that he's not going to come.

I stare at the strawberries and the champagne, still cool. I stare at the silken sheets and then spell them off my bed.

I'm not going to sleep in them alone.

When Harry steps into the bar two days later, I'm not mad at him anymore. Not really.

I understand that he wouldn't leave his own party for me. It makes sense.

I still hope for an apology. Afterall, I really hoped he'd come.

The moment he walks in though, I'm smiling.

„Happy birthday, sweetheart.“

Harry flushes as he slides on the stool. „Thanks.“

I lean in close enough that only he can hear me and whisper: „You owe me a blowjob for ditching me on your own birthday.“

The way Harry swallows is the first sure tell-sign that something is off. I draw back. Frown at him.

„Everything alright?“

„Yeah, um... yeah.“

I arch a brow.

„I wanted to talk to you.“

„Is that code for no shagging tonight?“ I ask, smiling even though I don't really feel like it anymore.

Harry bites his lip. „I... We're not shagging anymore.“

Slowly, I lower my wand, stopping the preparation of the _Bloody Mary_ I was busy with.

„Pardon?“

„I think it would be best -“ He swallows again. „I've talked to Ginny yesterday.“

I take a step back. My face turns to stone. My stomach is filled with eyes.

„Ah. The Weaselette.“

Harry looks down. „Don't call her that, please.“

I snort. „Well? What did you two talk about?“

Harry lifts his eyes. The guilt in them is so palpable that I feel shot. There's a bullet in my chest.

„We think... we should try again. It'll be different this time.“

I look at him evenly. My voice is completely neutral when I ask: „Are you joking?“

Harry takes a breath. Shakes his head. „Draco...“

I turn around. Breathe in, breathe out. The veela inside me is roaring. I can feel my shoulder blades itching, wings about to breach the skin. I take another couple breaths.

Then I face Harry again.

„Well, better tell her to invest in a strap-on.“

He flinches. „Don't be mean.“

I give him my iciest smile. „That wasn't being mean, Potter. It was merely a helpful suggestion how to salvage your soon-to-be-awful sex life.“

„Come on. Don't be like that.“

It's the famous last drop. My anger flares and my wings sprout, knocking several bottles off the shelves behind me. Some people gasp, but I don't care.

Harry's eyes grow wide as saucers.

„Get the fuck out of here, Potter,“ I hiss. My voice sounds different. I know my eyes are black.

„Draco, please. We were just fucking...“

I screach. I actually screach. High-pitched and bird-like and awful and I don't give a damn.

For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, there is real fear in Harry's eyes as he looks at me.

„Get out!“

Harry does. He just leaves and it takes me everything I have not to charge after him, not to grab him, demand he stop with that nonsense.

 _You're mine_. _Mine mine mine_.

I'm not sure if it's me or the veela. Probably both.

„It's enough.“ Serena approaches me, slowly. There are a couple pairs of eyes fixed on me.

Most vampires don't like veelas very much.

„Draco, stop it.“

I close my eyes and feel my wings retreat.

When they're gone, all that's left of me is my heart. Mauled and slashed and shattered as it is.


	5. The Fallout

I read about his engagement in the Prophet.

He didn't even wait for a full year to put a ring on it. Stupid, if you ask me. He should've looked at some statistics before he went and got all starry-eyed. Almost half of all marriages end in divorce, nowadays.

I'm at Pansy's when I see their picture, smiling at me from the frontpage. The _frontpage_. Potter's fucking _engagement_ made it on the frontpage.

All the glasses on Pansy's shelf shatter. She reprimands me. 

„Draco.“

„I don't even give a fuck.“ It's the poorest lie I've ever told, I think. I so obviously give a fuck that the words are laughable. They're mocking me.

Pansy flicks her wand and repares the glasses. She takes my hand and pulls me down on the couch with her.

„Darling.“

„Don't, Pansy. I swear to Salazar.“

She waits until I curl up, all energy gone. Then she pulls my head into her lap and pets my hair until I've cried myself to sleep.

I'm blaming it all on the veela.

You see, veelas are stupid creatures. Animals, basically. They have this ridiculous idea that, once you fuck someone repeatedly and maybe hang out at their place a couple times and share some takeaway food, that means you _belong_ to that person.

Or, they belong to you. Veelas are horrendously possessive. It's usually what gets them locked up by Aurors.

We can just never let go.

But I'm not a bloody animal. I'm _not_ a slave to my instincts. Who cares that I feel like I just got a limb amputated? It'll pass.

I hate Potter and soon, the veela will get that too and stop torturing me.

I close my eyes and pull the sheets above my head. Partly to keep out the cold (I'm always so fucking _cold_ lately), partly in a faint attempt to suffocate myself.

It's just my fucking luck that, while the gene skipped _both_ of my parents (yes, double luck – it runs in the Black family as well as in the Malfoy family), I of course got the full load. Not just a _little_ veela. Not just some frighteningly good looks and maybe a dislike for the winter. No. I full-on turned.

Which is the only reason why I feel like I'm going to die. Not just the expression. My heart is stumbling through mud, beating irregularly. I've lost the feeling in my hands and feet.

I literally feel like my body is about to decay.

Even with my hightened senses, I know it's impossible that Potter's smell would still linger in my sheets, but I smell him anyway. His hair and his neck and his crotch and his breath. I can smell it all the time and it drives me crazy.

Her, I mean. The veela.

I'm plagued by memories, so vivid, they almost pass as flashbacks. Potter panting underneath me. Potter telling me he's scared. Potter grinning at me from across the bar.

He's standing in my kitchen, bare feet, only wearing pants. He's so skinny. I could count the vertebrae on his spine. I have.

I drag myself into the bathroom and swallow a handful of pills that put me to sleep.

„Drink up.“

I don't have to be told twice. The lights are flashing and I'm downing my third muggle shot. It doesn't burn quite the way firewhiskey does, but it's good enough for now. Pansy's eyes are gleaming.

Muggle clubs lack the finesse of most wizarding clubs, but then again, I'm very sure I wouldn't be able to appreciate said finesse anyway, so who cares?

„I am going to chat up that pretty girl over there,“ Pansy says, nodding into the direction of a slender, black girl with curls tickling her shoulder blades and a top that keeps riding up.

„And you will find someone to suck your cock, alright?“

I snort, choking on my own spit. „I don't think so.“

„Yes, Draco. You do.“

„I don't need a shag.“

I need another shot and more pills and to go to sleep.

Pansy arches her brow. „Ugh, are you about to give me a speech on how no one can compare to Potter's scrawny arse?“

I hiss, back itching. „I am _not_. And his arse isn't that scrawny.“

Actually, it kind of is. My breath stops just thinking about it.

Pansy's eyebrow falls back into its usual place and her mouth tightens just a little. There are those lines around her eyes.

„Salazar, Draco. You really _are_ whipped.“

I make eye contact with the bartender and order another shot.

„Alright, then. I'll find someone to suck my cock tonight.“

I do find someone. He's a little shorter than I am, his brown skin is adorned with many tattoos and his curls are almost as soft as my own hair is.

He's lovely. And I hate touching him.

I push it down down down, fake it, think of Potter to get hard, but pretend that I'm not. I manage to get it up and shove my cock into his pretty mouth. And then I realize that it's not going to work.

I let him try for a couple minutes and part of my brain registers that he really is good at this, better than Potter, but I hate it. His mouth on me feels so _wrong_ , my skin starts to crawl. I feel my back itching.

„I'm sorry,“ I say, pushing him away. „I drank too much.“

He stands, brushing dust off his trousers. „Oh. Okay. Well, I -“

I push past him, out of the loo, and curse myself to hell and back. Curse _her_ , the fucking veela, that apparently won't even let me fuck anymore.

Pansy has her hands between her conquest's legs.

„Let's go,“ I say.

Pansy scowls at me. Kisses her date. „You're gorgeous, darling. Let's continue this another night, shall we?“ Gets up. Takes my hand.

„What happend?“

We're not even completely out of the club when I already start shouting. „I can't even _fuck_ anymore, Pansy. Do you know what that means?“

„That you'll have to wank a lot?“

My chest is heaving. Alcohol is cursing through my veins like venom.

„I can't even wank properly. I'm always thinking of him.“

„You poor soul.“ She says it mockingly, but her hand squeezes mine gently.

„I _love_ sex, Pansy. I love it. I want to have it. I don't want to feel like throwing up when someone is sucking my cock.“

„I'm sure it'll pass, darling.“ She fires an intimidating glare at some nosy passerby.

„I'm not. She – the veela – she wants him _so much_.“

Pansy gives me a mild raise of her brows. „She? Are you quite sure about that?“

„ _Yes_. I hate Potter. For all I care, he can go and pop out a little army of brats with red hair and freckles and stupid green eyes... I _hate_ him. But _she_ wants him.“

„You're acting like the veela is... some parasite living inside you.“

„It is. I hate _her_ too.“

Pansy sighs and drags me along. I'm starting to feel a little wobbly on my legs.

„It doesn't work like that. The veela is not a parasite. It's you.“

„I'm a person.“

„Veela are people.“

I turn my head away. „I'm too drunk for this.“

She apparates us back to her flat and I crash on her couch, half-asleep the moment my head touches the pillow.

„You better make me breakfast tomorrow,“ Pansy says.

* * *

Another stack of papers is swooshing through the room, scattering all over the floor.

Ron glances at me sideways.

„It's not just the coffe, mate.“

„Accio files.“ They return into their previous order, even though I think there might be missing a page or two. „What do you mean?“

Ron is still looking at me in this disconcerting way. „You're not just such a pain in the arse because of the horrible coffee.“

„I'm not a pain in the arse.“

When Ron actually puts his wand down and the files away, I know it's serious. My heart starts beating.

„I promised I wouldn't push. I'm not Hermione, for fuck's sake. But I've had it, yeah? What's going on?“

„Nothing's going on.“ The papers lift off my desk again. Back on the floor. I put my head in my hands.

Ron keeps staring until I say: „I'm just constipated, yeah? Can we drop it now?“

The snort Ron makes is quite impressive. „So you've been constipated for the last year or what?“

I frown at him, lowering my hands. „Huh?“

Ron's face softens in a way it doesn't often. „You've been my best mate for ten bloody years now. I think even longer. I know something's up.“

I stay quiet.

Nothing's up. I've just seen Parkinson in the Prophet this morning. Parkinson with her new shop everyone's gushing about and that's good for her, but bad for me. The urge to visit said shop... is barely resistable.

Even though I know it wouldn't do any good. I've made my decision a long time ago. I think I made it the day Ron joined me in the Hogwarts Express and I bought sweets for both of us.

„Just tell me who she is.“ Ron's voice is quiet.

My eyes widen. „What? I -“

„I'm not a complete moron, Harry. I know that it's a woman and I know you're not talking to me about it because Gin's my sister. But I want to know. I'm not gonna... get mad or anything.“ Ron frowns. „Unless you're cheating on her. Then I might kill you.“

I'm not sure how serious he is.

„I'm not cheating on her,“ I say, staring at the surface of my desk.

„Good. Didn't think you were. You're not that kind of guy.“

I flinch. I really don't know anymore what kind of guy I am.

Apparently the kind that is thinking about someone else when having sex with his fiancée.

When I told Draco I'm not gay, I was convinced it was the truth. Now I'm not so sure anymore.

It's hard to tell if it's just _him_ that makes having sex with other people difficult or if it's really Ginny's gender that bothers me.

I love her. I know I do. I always have.

So maybe... maybe I really am gay. It would make the most sense why things aren't going the way I thought they would.

But it doesn't matter. I love her and she loves me and we're so _good_ together.

„Harry?“

I rub my eyes with the knuckles of my hand. „It's nothing. There was someone, after... you know, when Ginny and I were broken up. It wasn't serious.“

„But you're still thinking about her.“

„Not much.“

I'm not sure if that's the truth.

It might also be the fact that Draco is a bloody veela. I know they have this allure-thing going on.

What if – what if he ruined me for everyone else? What if it's like a spell?

Ron seems to see the alarm in my face.

„What?“

„Nothing. I just -“

It's been a year. It's been a year of horrible sex with the woman I want to marry and _maybe_ , it's not _only_ my fault. Maybe Draco did this on purpose. To fuck with me.

And even if he didn't do it on purpose, maybe he can help. Undo it.

I leave work early, which I've only done about three times or so in my life.

I get lost twice on my way to Parkinson's shop in one of the side streets of Diagon, but finally, I find it.

It's a fashion store and I have no interest in clothes whatsoever, so I breeze through the aisles, looking for Parkinson's dark head of hair.

She sees me first, standing behind the counter. Her mouth is pinched, but I'm shocked to notice how good she looks. I didn't remember her being attractive in Hogwarts.

But then again, I hardly paid her any attention.

„Hi,“ I say. I have no idea why, but suddenly, I feel shy.

„Potter. What can I do for you?“ Her voice is icy. She's worse than Draco.

„I'm actually looking for Draco.“

Her face stays impassive. „He isn't here.“

„Well, where can I find him? He never seems to be home.“

They won't let me into the bar anymore. I've tried it twice and even though I probably could have fought my way inside, I really didn't want to blow up Draco's workplace.

So now I'm here.

„I'm not trying to be rude, but... I wouldn't see how that's any of your business.“

I swallow. Draco _must_ have told her about us. Right?

„It's really important,“ I say.

Parkinson just cocks a brow at me and starts folding some denims.

„Nice shop,“ I say.

She looks like she might laugh at me. „Thank you.“

„Is he here, sometimes? Can I wait for him?“

„Draco doesn't visit me at work.“

I can't tell if she's lying or not. I lean in closer. „Please, Parkinson. I really, really need to talk to him.“

Brown is supposed to be a warm colour, but as she looks at me, Parkinson's eyes are colder than Draco's ever were. I actually flinch under her gaze.

„It's been over a year, _Potter_ ,“ Parkinson says. Voice dangerously low. „You don't get to just swoop in again and mess up his life. You've already done enough.“

„Well, I think _he_ is messing up _my_ life.“

Parkinson slaps me. My head flies to the side, cheek burning.

Slowly, I turn back to her.

„Will you arrest me now?“

Teeth grit, I take a step back.

„Okay. Whatever.“

With that, I turn on my heels and walk out of the shop.

After the bitter disappointment Parkinson's shop proved to be (my cheek still stings), I do what I should've done from the start. I channel my inner Hermione and do some research on veela.

I honestly can't believe I haven't done this before. I mean, Jesus Christ. I've been sleeping with a veela for _months_ ( _Draco_ , my brain unhelpfully supplies, _you've been sleeping with_ Draco) and I never thought to look up if there might be any risks in that.

Like with most other beings, there is not all that much literature to be found that doesn't center around how they've apparently attacked and antagonized wizards during the last centuries.

I know Hermione would have a lot to say about that, but right now, I merely find it annoying.

It takes me ages to find a book that really sheds a light on veela themselves and not one hundred and one reasons why they shouldn't be integrated into society.

I learn some interesting facts. Like that veela have a lower body temperature, because it takes them much more energy than it takes humans to maintain it. They prefer the south and warmth. Cold wears them down – can even be detrimental in some cases.

I learn that, while a veela's transition doesn't happen involuntarily and monthly like a werewolf's, it isn't entirely _voluntary_ , either. Usually, it's triggered by strong emotions, predominantly anger. That's why it's also called a Veela's Fury.

They can control their transition to a certain degree, but not fully. They can't just sprout wings when they feel like a little flight and they also can't hold back when they're _really_ pissed.

And then, I learn about the mate thing.

It's not like the few stories I've read about it depicts it. It has little to do with soulmates, and a lot with the physical stuff.

Apparently, veela grow attached to someone they're sleeping with regularly. And not like humans do, too, but – almost physically. The book talks about extreme possessiveness and warns that veela are almost incapable of letting their _mate_ go.

It's not just about sex, though. I don't really understand it and I have the feeling the author doesn't, either, but it's just like... a bond, forming. Triggered through sex, but deepened by other stuff.

In short, the more a veela and their partner share, the deeper the veela feels for them. Not that that's so different from how humans work; the books points that out several times.

But for a veela, apparently, it's all way more intense. They suffer physical symptoms if separated from their mate. They're pining horribly.

I read almost an hour about all this, about veela growing attached and strategies how to avoid a bond forming, on how many veela choose to live very promiscuous, only having one-night-stands until they find someone they want to be serious with. I read about rare cases of veela _dying_ due to their mate leaving them.

But nowhere, not with one line, does it say that it works the other way around, too. If a veela's partner is human, they won't experience any of the symptoms the veela experience.

_Many veelas prefer to enter relationships only with their own kind because of the inherent inequality between them and a human partner, since they'll always be more dependent on their partner than vice-versa._

After that sentence, I slowly put the book down. I can hear Ginny downstairs and drop my head into my arms.

It seems like I can't blame Draco for having bad sex.

But he sure as hell can blame me.

This time, I don't let a couple of bulky vampires keep me out of the _Oyster_. Under my Invisibility Cloak, it's easy to slip past them – at least after casting a couple strong Confundus spells.

Draco is working, a couple of bottles floating around him as he's talking to Serena, shirt crisp as always. My knees are weak. I know what Draco looks like without that crisp shirt. I know what he feels like inside me. I know the face he makes when he comes.

Slowly, I approach the bar, still under the cloak. A second or so before I pull it off, Draco's eyes find my face. 

The cloak slides off me in a fluent motion and I hear some gasps. But all I can see is Draco.

My world is always rather narrow when he's in the vicinity.

He staggers. His mouth opens.

„Draco.“

His lips press together. His silver irises turn black. I think his hands are shaking.

„What are you doing here?“ he asks. The liquid in the bottles floating around him swirls.

„I needed to see you. Can we talk?“

I'm absolutely sure he'll say no. Judging by his expression, he's clearly thinking about homicide and I'm prepared to argue my case, when he surprises me with a sharp, jerky nod.

Serena looks me up and down, clearly not all that pleased to see me.

„In there.“

I follow Draco into the small staff room behind the bar. The door falls shut behind us and suddenly, we're alone. My back is against a shelf full of bottles and Draco is facing me, only maybe a yard away. His hands are clenched into fists.

„So. Talk.“

But I can't. I have to stare at him first. His cheekbones look so sharp in the shadows. The tension in his shoulders makes his back as straight as a board. I want to touch his wrists. Feel the hum of the blood on the insides.

„You never told me about – about the sex-thing.“

I think Draco pales a little further. „What the fuck are you talking about?“

My heart is racing in my chest, my bones like glass. Easily breakable.

„About what happens when veela sleep with someone. A lot, I mean.“

Draco sneers at me. 

I think he truly hates me now.

„And what would that be, Potter?“

I swallow. „I didn't mean to hurt you.“

Draco laughs and chills are running down my spine, the bad kind of chills. His laugh is like stones grinding, like plastic melting in fire.

„Is that all?“

I reach out. I can't help it. My fingers brush the back of his hand – it's cold as ice.

„I -“

Before I know what's happening, I'm shoved against the shelf behind me, wrists pinned rather painfully next to my head.

„You're nothing to me, Potter. Nothing at all. I don't care about you. I just liked fucking you.“

My heart is trying to burst out of my chest and splatter on the floor.

„But I've read -“

The pressure on my wrists increases. I can smell Draco and it makes forming coherent sentences difficult.

„It's all lies,“ Draco says, breathing heavily. „I'm not a fucking animal.“

„I didn't say-“

The words die on my tongue when Draco suddenly buries his face in my neck, still pinning my wrists. He licks over my skin, his tongue hot, while everything else is cold. I shiver. Our hips press against one another.

We're both hard.

„Do you want her?“ His voice is rough.

I close my eyes. He bites my neck and I let him. I even tilt my head for better access.

He's never bitten me like that before. He's never hurt me.

„I love her,“ I say, because I'm not a liar.

But I think Draco is. Sometimes.

„You don't want her. Not like you want me.“

I say nothing. I think he knows.

He lets go of my wrists, grabbing my hips instead, pulling me close. His arms are made of steel.

He doesn't look it, but Draco is so strong, it makes my head spin and my dick harden almost painfully.

My hands are in his hair all of a sudden, clutching.

„Let me fuck you,“ he says into my neck. „She doesn't have to know.“

I know he knows how much I want to say yes. I almost do.

But I can't.

„I'm not a cheater,“ I choke out.

He makes a weird noise and holds me even tighter. A tear is slipping out of the corner of my eyes.

„Let me go, Draco.“

He doesn't. 

I'm not scared, not really. My magic was strong enough to take on Voldemort. A veela won't kill me.

But if he doesn't let me go now, he'll break my heart in a new way I'm not sure I could bear.

„Draco,“ I whisper. „Let me go.“

He does.

His eyes are black and his whole body is shaking and suddenly, he seems so young. I cup his cheek with one hand and he leans into my touch, as if he couldn't help himself.

„Why?“ he asks.

„It's what's right.“

He swallows hard. My thumb strokes his face. I'm not sure I'll survive letting him go.

Briskly, he pulls away. Turns his back on me.

I put my hand between his shoulder blades. „Please, I -“

„Go. I never want to see your face ever again, Potter.“

„Draco, let's -“

„ _Get out!_ “ He screams it. Not yells. He actually _screams_.

I pull my hand away and stagger back, black dots dancing in front of my eyes.


	6. A Cup of Tea

The lights in the interrogation room are too bright.

And it's so fucking cold. Whereever I go, it's always so cold.

I guess I should have expected this. Sooner or later, they'd raid the _Oyster_. It was probably foolish of me to assume I'd make it out in time.

But then again, I probably would have if I weren't so... disoriented lately. So slow, with everything. Lethargic.

I only half-listen to the Aurors. I don't think they'll throw me into Azkaban again. If they do, I'm pretty sure I'll die there.

It probably should alarm me how little I care. But there isn't really much I care about anymore.

Except for Pansy.

I shake myself. I care for Pansy. I straighten my spine and try to focus, even though it's hard. I've done harder things, for fuck's sake.

„What's going on here?“

I want to cry. I want to scream it's not fair.

Potter walks into the room, wearing his Auror robes like he still doesn't know how to properly put them on, hair a _mess_.

I want to touch him. I want him to hold me and kiss me and let me lick his skin until he smells like he's mine.

Even if he's not.

I haven't seen him in four months. Not since he showed up at the bar and I made a fool out of myself.

I was almost glad when I finally felt so exhausted and, frankly, _ill_ , that I couldn't muster the energy to wank anymore. Less time spent reminiscing on how Harry's – _Potter's –_ brows draw together when he comes. Or that he has a mole on the inside of his left thigh. Or the fact that he always says _oh, okay_ when he's upset or hurt because he never outright tells anyone.

I'm not even sure how I know that last bit.

„Malfoy here works at the _Oyster_. That vampire breeding ground I told you about,“ the tall, sandy-haired Auror with the hard mouth tells Potter.

I sneer and hope no one notices the way my body keeps leaning into Potter's direction. I'm so desperate to catch his scent, it's driving me up the walls. I think I might almost be able to burst those cuffs tieing me to the chair.

I look anywhere but him, trying to push down the nausea, trying to rip out the feathers before they can even grow.

Potter's mouth is tight. „I didn't know we were planning a raid.“

„It was a rather spontanious decision.“ Sandy Hair winks. Potter isn't amused.

„You can't do that.“

My lungs must have shrunken. I can't get enough air in.

„We already have. Sorry we didn't notify you, but...“ With a shrug, Sandy Hair nods at me. „We got him. And there're some vamps down the hall.“

For the first time, Potter is looking at me. I vowed I wouldn't meet his gaze, but I do. Of course I do.

I'm not sure what Potter sees in my face, but whatever it is, it makes him pale.

„I need to talk to Ron,“ Potter announces.

„Alright. We'll get on with this.“

„No!“ Everyone flinches. Sometimes, I forget that Potter killed the Dark Lord at the tender age of seventeen. It's easy to, most of the time, because Potter's just so... I don't want to say soft, but subdued. He doesn't flaunt his power.

Except when he does, like right now, erasing every single doubt that, if he wanted to, he could evaporate this whole office with a flick of his wrist.

„You'll wait for me,“ he orders and Sandy Hair doesn't object.

Potter takes his sweet time. I feel half-mad when he finally gets back. My back is itching and the heavy metal cuffs cut into my wrist. They're sore and open.

I forgot what it's like to be kept. Locked. Unable to get away.

I'm not sure if it's the veela or the trauma that makes being locked up so unbearable to me.

Or maybe, for once, I'm just normal. No one likes to be captured.

But I'm not sure everyone can feel their intestines knot and their stomach press against their throat and their heart trying to squeeze its way through their ribs.

When Potter returns, he does so with Weasley on his heels, and I can't help but snarl. I feel out of my mind.

Weasley regards me with something very close to disgust, freckles stark against his pale face.

He has a scar now, a pretty ugly, angry scar stretching from the left side of his jaw down over his neck, disappearing into his collar.

I think he got it on the job, but maybe it was the battle. Looks like something Aunt Bella would have done; some foreplay before the main event.

„We want him released,“ Harry says.

Weasley grimaces, clearly not on the same page with his fellow, but he doesn't say anything.

Sandy Hair stares at the both of them.

„We can't _release_ him. He's a criminal. He's got a record.“ He looks from one to the others. „Mates, this is Draco fucking Malfoy.“

My heart is pitter-pattering in that telling way. My wings might sprout any second and I know that if they do, I'm done.

Wizards hate creatures. I get that – I do too.

That doesn't mean though I want to go to Azkaban again. I think I would rather die.

„You know that half of our department has been to the _Oyster_ at least once,“ Potter says in a low voice.

I think he's stretching the truth a little, but he's not completely wrong.

Sandy Hair gives him a level stare. „Don't worry. No one will drag you into this.“

With that, he comes over to me, casting a patronus as he goes. As if it was nothing. As if everyone could do it.

„Guards, get the holding cell ready.“

* * *

They don't put Draco in one of the standard holding cells. They take him to Azkaban instead.

It takes me two days of throwing my weight around, of raging to the Minister, before I get permission to visit him.

Ron thinks I'm crazy. And I haven't even told him everything.

If he knew that what I really meant by _Malfoy-and-I-sorta-had-a-talk_ was _Malfoy-fucked-my-brains-out_ , I'm not sure he wouldn't lock me into the Pius Thickness Ward.

My heart is pounding all the way to Azkaban and if I didn't feel the need to clutch my wand so tightly, I'd bite my nails.

„Mr. Potter.“ The guard is pale and has moles all over his face. He looks positively terrified of me.

„I'm here to see Malfoy.“

„The veela? Um – well. Do you have a...“

I shove Kingsley's permission slip into his face. The ward's face turns a bright crimson.

„Well, alright. Um, there has been a little, well – incident. Or, not an incident, but, well – the prisoner seems...“

My blood is buzzing. 

„Seems what?“

„He seems to be ill. I was, um, well, thinking about calling the Healers? I -“

„Where is he?“

The guard almost has a heart attack, but thirty seconds later, I know all I need and dash down the corridors. If I just run fast enough, maybe I can outrun the despair clinging to me. The Dementors are whispering. I can hear my mother screaming.

But not only her. There's also Hermione – long, horrible, drawn out cries that chill my blood. There are the gurgling sounds when Ron almost choked.

And there is the feeling of wetness, the smell of bathroom. The metallic scent of blood.

I push it all aside and head toward the cell – the cell in which a lump is lying in the middle. On the hard floor.

„Draco,“ I say before I've even got the door open. If it wasn't for his blond hair, I wouldn't know it's a person, that crumpled heap of dark fabric.

„Draco.“ I sink to my knees beside him, touching his shoulder. He's cold as ice. I cast a warming charm, but it vanishes almost immediately.

In the back of my mind, I can hear Uncle Vernon's voice and I start shivering.

„I'm here now,“ I say, touching Draco's cold cheek. I feel for his breath.

It's shallow and weak.

„Levicorpus.“

All the way out of the cell and through the corridors, I fight the marrow-splitting horror of the memories clawing at my mind.

Summer heat and dry grass. Blisters on my hands. Darkness, hard, unrelenting wood under my fingers. Spiders in my hair.

I almost drop Draco, but then we're there and I slip out of the Dementor's reach.

The horrified guard stares at me.

„You can't just...“

„I'll take him to St. Mungo's.“

„Mr. Potter, I – I'll have to -“

„Shut your mouth.“  
  


They're not quite sure, the Healers, why exactly Draco is in such a bad condition. It's the cold, one says. Veela don't do well with being locked up, says another.

I'm sitting on his bed until Parkinson rushes in. She sees me and doesn't flinch. Doesn't stop.

With long, elegant steps, she strides over.

„Potter.“

„Parkinson.“

She's wearing a short, flowy skirt and a cropped jumper and I think she looks like a girl Ginny would fight horribly with until, after scratching each other's eyes out, they'd realize they actually admire each other.

„Are you going to stay?“ Parkinson asks. I blink at her.

„I want to wait until he wakes up.“

„That's not what I meant.“

She steps closer, around me, next to Draco's head. When she starts petting his hair, I think I realize for the first time that she loves him. Really loves him. I'm not sure how – maybe she doesn't even know herself – but it's obvious that she'd kill for him.

„If you're going to go back to your red-headed fiancée, then you should leave now.“ She doesn't even look at me.

„I – I want -“

„I don't care what you want, Potter. I care about what you do.“

My eyes narrow. „Excuse me, but you -“

She spins around and puts her wand to my throat. She must know that hexing me would be the dumbest thing she could do. But there she is, pointing her wand at me.

„What you did almost killed him,“ she says.

I swallow hard. „I didn't know.“

Her hand doesn't shake. „I couldn't care less. If you're gonna leave, then go.“

I'm frozen to the spot.

„You heard me, Potter.“

I want to tell her that I _can't_ stay. It's not even a choice.

„You'll look out for him, right?“

Pansy's eyes narrow even farther. „I always do.“

I nod and get up, her wand still pointing at me. When I turn, she puts it away.

* * *

My mother used to tell me that I was everything good in her life.

 _The day you were born, it all made sense_ , she said. She didn't say those three words to me very often, but I knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that I was loved.

I think it's that love that prevented me from going down a road I wouldn't be able to walk back again.

And it's that love that made me stay away from her when I discovered I was a veela. The prospect of losing her love for me scared me more than the prospect of never seeing her again.

But now, I'm standing in front of her door, feeling ready to throw up.

Her only son is a veela, and she read about it in the papers. It's entirely my fault.

I've been a coward, once again, hiding and squeezing my eyes shut until someone broke in and dragged me out of my little hideaway, forcing me into the unforgiving light.

And now I'm standing in front of her door, trying to muster the strength to look into her eyes when she opens.

A couple hours ago, I broke down in front of Pansy and made her swear to never, ever leave me. „Even if I'm horrible to you,“ I said. „Even if you hate me, I need you to love me.“

It was so out of character for me that Pansy asked me three times if I was feeling unwell.

I _am_ , but that's nothing new, is it?

I haven't seen Potter since he saved my life ( _again_ , the fucking bastard) and the charges against me were miraculously dropped.

And now I'm about to get officially disowned. Not that there would be much left to inheret, but it's the thought that counts, right?

My mother opens the door. She looks old. She looks so very old.

My throat clenches.

„Hello, Mother.“

She looks at me for a very long moment. Then she opens her arms.

I've sprouted roots instead of wings. I can't move.

Her eyes are glistening. She reaches up and touches my cheek with her long fingers. Making sure I'm real.

„My darling,“ she says. „Come inside.“

* * *

When Ginny breaks up with me, everyone has an opinion about it.

Ron says that it's my fault. Because of that _mystery woman that apparently fucked the reason right out of you_.

Hermione says that it's sad, but probably for the best. _I don't think you were ever really in love with her, Harry._

Ginny says, when I knock on her door pissed out of my mind, begging her to take me back, that I'm a fool. _You're either gay or ridiculously in love with someone else. I love you, but I'm starting to lose respect for you. Just let me go._

Draco says nothing, because Draco doesn't talk to me. Which I know is _right_ \- I just can't remember anymore why that is.

I spend too many days in bed. Sometimes I go to work. Sometimes I don't.

There is the drip drip drip of the leaking tab in my kitchen sink, but I can never bother to get up and fix it. I don't shower enough.

Ron checks on me after I haven't shown at work for three days in a row. He's standing in the middle of my one-room flat, dripping wet, coat too small for his long frame.

„I'm still mad at you,“ he says, taking off his coat and spelling it dry. „But I'm also here for you.“

He cleans my nasty flat and then he orders takeaway. We eat in silence.

Sometime between me processing that he's actually shown up and that processing that I haven't eaten in so long that I'm getting stomach cramps now, I say: „I think I'm seriously fucked up.“

Ron casts me a glance. „Wanna talk about it?“

I shake my head. It's impossible to talk about something you don't really understand yourself. Something you don't dare even taking a quick glance at.

Ron summons a bottle of whiskey. I didn't know I still had one.

„I can't fall asleep without booze or pills,“ he says. „Never.“

„Me neither. Only rarely.“

Ron reaches for the last spring roll, slowly chewing. „You know, I don't hate you for messing it up with Gin. I just hate that – you know. I thought you'd be my, like, _actual_ brother.“

I feel sick. Nausea is turning my stomach inside out.

„I'm sorry,“ I whisper. „I'm sorry I wasn't good enough.“

Ron glances at me, deep shadows under his eyes. „I don't think that's it, mate. And, really. We're brothers anyway. We've always been. Right?“

Tears are prickling in my eyes. I nod, trying to swallow down the tears and everything else. „Right.“

Ron smiles at me.

I don't know why I'm dreaming about the Dursleys again.

I used to dream about them often, but then it stopped. Completely.

But now the dreams are back and part of me wishes to be haunted by Voldemort again instead. The dreams of the snake faced maniac were always horrible, but they were... easy. The easy kind of horror.

Nothing about my dreams about the Dursleys is easy. I hardly ever understand what's even going on, but I wake up puking my guts out every time without fail. I don't know why.

„You have three seconds to get out, Potter.“

Draco's voice is ice, as are his hands, as is everything about him, but I don't care.

„I'm sorry,“ I say. „I'm so sorry for everything I did to you.“

His hands are shaking. I know he hates himself for ever showing me to his flat. When I tried to track him down there the last time, he was on guard and didn't let me in.

But today, he didn't expect me and opened the door.

Draco swallows. He doesn't look me in the eyes.

„Alright.“

„Genuinely. I'm so sorry.“

His mouth is tight. „Well, you made the Aurors drop any charges against me. Let's just say we're even.“

„But I need to apologise properly.“

Desperation is rising in my chest.

„Consider your apology proper enough. Now leave, please.“

Draco doesn't say _please_ often. I know he means it, that he really wants me to leave.

But I can't make myself turn around.

„Draco, I -“

I'm shivering. It's not that cold out, but I'm shivering like crazy.

He closes his eyes for a moment. „Why do you keep doing this to me?“ His voice is rough. „Does it amuse you?“

„What? No, I -“

„Stop torturing me. If your goal was to see me hurt, then, congratulations. You succeeded. Now can you let it go?“

He starts turning away from me.

„I need you.“

Slowly, Draco turns back to me. „You don't need me. You've got plenty people to dote on you, Potter.“

„I need you,“ I repeat and something in my voice, or maybe my expression, must get through to him.

He grits his teeth, then steps around me and closes the door behind me.

„I really hate you, Potter. And I mean that.“

I nod dumbly.

„Tea?“

Draco makes us tea and then we drink it in silence, watching the slow, weak drizzle of rain outside. It must have been at least an hour until Draco finally speaks.

„I've heard you and Weasley split up.“

„Yeah.“

„Why?“

I look into my empty mug. „Turns out I don't love her and that means she can't love me.“

Draco says nothing.

Finally, after another eternity, he asks: „Why are you here?“

I hold his gaze and something inside of me comes alive under his silver stare. „I thought I knew what I want. But I really don't. I have no idea who I am or what I want. But I know that I miss you. So much that it feels like it's killing me.“

I close my mouth, heart in my throat.

Draco leans back in his chair, watching me. Face impassive.

„I thought we were just fucking.“

I feel so small.

„You know I was just saying that,“ I whisper.

He's quiet, watching me. „I don't know what you want.“

„I just told you that I don't, either.“

Draco's face hardens. „I'm done playing games with you, Potter. You know about my... predicament. You're lonely. You'll keep on nagging until I finally give in and fuck you. We'll fuck for some weeks or months or maybe even years and then you'll leave and my life goes to shit again.“

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

„So, what do you want?“ I ask then.

Draco blushes. Looks away.

„I think you know that.“

„I don't.“

I'm pinned by a fierce stare. „I will not spell it out for you, Potter.“

I'm not entirely sure I know what he's saying.

All I know is that I don't want him to shut me out again.

„Then no sex,“ I say impulsively.

A pale brow arches.

„Pardon?“

„We don't have to fuck. Just... let me stay a little longer. Please.“

I think he's going to say no. I feel like jumping off buildings. Flinging myself over the edge.

I just have.

Draco catches me.

„Alright. But I still hate you.“

* * *

I'm not quite sure what Potter is on about. He has invaded my home and refuses to leave.

He didn't ask me. He didn't even warn me.

He just did it.

I'm living with Harry Potter and we both pretend it's nothing.

On the first evening, he tries to seduce me, apparently already having forgotten about his offer, but I haven't. If I will only get one condition, then I'm sure as fuck going to be strict about it.

„No fucking,“ I say. „We're just friends.“

Potter goes to work and then he comes home and often, he'll cook for me. At first, I can't deny how much it pleases me. Especially the way his face lights up whenever I tell him that it tastes good.

Then one time, I'm around, watching him preparing the food and I realize that Potter, while he is very _good_ at cooking, he really doesn't _like_ it.

„Give me that,“ I say, taking the wooden spoon from him.

„Do you even know what I'm making?“

„Can't be that hard if _you_ are able to prepare it, can it, Potter?“

I burn the dish and almost my entire flat with it. Potter laughs and laughs and I feel heavily tempted to do it again.

I know that Potter is a sucker for cuddling and physical affection in general, but I don't give it to him, because we're not fucking, this time. We're not lovers. I will not pet his hair.

I break my resolution when I notice that Potter takes sleeping pills. Sleeping pills and vodka and whatever the hell those other potions are.

„Are you trying to kill yourself?“ I ask him, yanking the pills out of his hands.

Potter swallows, eyes big. „I can't sleep without them.“

I only stare at him, until he's squirming, red in the face. „It's not that uncommon! Many people have insomnia, I'm not – it's not weird, I -“

„Shut up,“ I say and sit down next to him on the couch. Potter looks at me, his eyes still so fucking big. „Shut up,“ I say and put my arm around him. The beast in my belly purrs. „Shut up,“ I whisper and pull him against my chest.

He's sleeping in my bed now, every single night, and I decide to call him Harry again. It's just a name. It means nothing.

„You know you can fuck me, right?“ he says in the darkness of the night, one of those many nights in which I can't sleep because he's _right next to me_ and everything inside of my is crying for me to reach out.

„I don't want you,“ I spit.

„Okay.“ His voice is quiet.

I close my eyes, hands clenched into fists and will myself to stay strong and not say anything else. I can't want him. I'm already giving away way too much.

„I want you though,“ he says and the growl I make is so low, so dangerous and angry, that he finally shuts his mouth.

I'm not sure what it is exactly that wakes me up. I sleep light, always have, and even more so now that I'm half-bird.

The first thing I notice is the smell. Then the heartbeat. Fluttery, too fast.

„Harry?“ I ask, still drowsy.

No answer, but the sheets are rustling. He's getting out of bed. I turn, trying to make out his figure in the darkness. A clattering noise. He must be picking his wand up.

I can feel the magic and the smell lessens and Harry slips out of the room. It takes me a couple more seconds to realize what just happened.

„Harry,“ I call out, voice rough from slip. The veela is squirming, urging me to go after him. For once, I don't fight her.

I find him in the bathroom.

„Harry?“ It's the third time I'm saying his name now. I usually try to keep it to once a day max.

Harry is hiding his face in his hands, shoulders drawn up. His back to me.

I'm not sure if he used a cleaning spell or already changed his pants.

Tentatively, I reach out and touch his shoulder. He flinches and I hastily draw back.

„I'm sorry,“ he says, barely audible. „It won't happen again. I'm so sorry.“

He's ashamed.

No, he's absolutely mortified. Humiliated.

My heart tightened. The veela is screaching at me. Maybe it's not just her.

„It's okay,“ I say and reach out again. Put my hand on his shoulder.

He's so skinny. It pains me.

„Are you alright?“ I ask.

„Yeah. I can go if you want to.“

„Harry, look at me. Please.“

After a long couple of second, he turns around, but won't lower his hands.

„You're being ridiculous,“ I say and it's the wrong thing to say. It doesn't make him take his hands away. It only makes his shoulders rise even higher.

„I'm so sorry,“ he says again, into his hands.

„Don't be. It happens.“ That's not strictly true – I don't know anyone who still wets his bed occassionally.

Well, there were rumors, back in Hogwarts, that Millicent did. But I've never found out if they were true.

„Hey,“ I say, feeling at a loss. I don't know what to say. I don't know if I should peel Harry's hands off his face.

I opt for slowly stepping closer and encircling his body with my arms. I don't hold him tight. Just tight enough that he's pulled against my chest, my hands on his back.

I touch the back of his head, his soft hair. My neck bends and I press kisses into it. I can't help myself. I'm not even deciding. It just happens.

Harry is trembling.

„Does that happen often?“ I whisper into the general direction of his ear.

I can't imagine it has. As if I wouldn't wake up. I always notice when he leaves the bed at night.

Harry shakes his head. „No. It hasn't in months, I -“

So it _is_ not a one-time occurrence.

„I'll clean the sheets, I promise, I will -“

I kiss his head again. „You already have.“

„Not enough, they're -“

„Potter. The sheets are clean.“

He's silent. I think he's leaning into me, even though his face is still covered by his hands.

Very gently, I take his wrists and push them down. He lets me, but doesn't meet my eyes.

„Come back to bed, darling.“


	7. Then and Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter everyone :)

Pansy lazily flicks her wand, erasing the ugly smears on her shop window.

„I told you this was a bad idea.“

„My shop is doing well enough that I can afford to not give a fuck about some stupid vandalists,“ she says unconcerned and I follow her inside.

When I go upstairs into her office, my brain already halfway into the design I'm currently creating, Pansy follows me.

„He is still living with you?“

Unfazed, I sit down at the desk I've come to think of as mine. „Yes.“

„But you're not dating and no one knows about it.“

„Correct.“

„Do you still want to fuck him?“

„Who says I'm not?“

„Are you?“

„No.“

She sighs and looks over my shoulder at the first drafts of a new pair of jeans.

„You are aware that you're in the process of getting your heart broken again, yes?“

I turn and look up at her. „Is that all then, Pansy?“

She crosses her arms and stares me down. „And you are _also_ aware that it's going to be me who'll have to keep you from killing yourself when he leaves, _yes_?“

„If.“

„Pardon?“

„ _If_ he leaves.“

Pansy sits down on the desk, slight frown on her face. „You think he won't?“

I swallow, reaching for my favourite pencil. „He will eventually. Not now though.“

„And that's enough for you.“

It's not a question, but I answer it anyway.

„Yes. That's enough for me.“

I think we both know that it is a lie as well as it is the naked truth.

* * *

„Warrington wants to inspect Parkinson's shop,“ Ron says as I walk into the office with two cups of coffee.

„Again?“

I hand him his grabby cup (we should _really_ start cleaning them more often) and take a sip from my own, burning my mouth.

„Apparently. I'm starting to think he's got the hots for her. Or Malfoy, for that matter.“

I almost choke on my coffee. Ron pats my back roughly.

„There's been another assault in Hermione's shelter,“ I say, putting the reports on Ron's desk without ceremony.

The ginger rubs his forehead. „If she doesn't get those under control, she'll lose her shelter.“

„We'll take care of it.“

Ron sighs. Still, after all those years, he hates having to talk to Hermione. I think he still loves her.

„How's she doing?“ he asks.

I shrug and burn my mouth a second time. „Alright. She's working too much.“

Ron regards me over the rim of his cup. „Does she know who it is?“

„Huh?“

„Who are you seeing? It's been months and you still haven't told me.“

I'm squirming in my chair. Avoiding his gaze.

„Why does it have to be a secret?“ Ron asks, brows drawn. „I won't judge.“

„You'll regret saying that.“

Ron meets my eyes. „Is it a guy? Because, yeah, that's a _shitty_ thing to do to my sister, but... you're my best mate. I wouldn't care.“

My heart is beating too fast. „It's a guy. But that's not... all.“

Ron closes his eyes in pain. Opens them again. „Please tell me it's not Malfoy. Anyone but him.“

„It's him.“

Ron groans loudly and slouches in his chair. „Fuck me.“

„If it helps – we're not dating.“

The look Ron throws me almost makes me laugh. „The worst part really is the – you know. I don't have a problem knowing you're having gay sex, but, Merlin. You having gay sex with Malfoy?“ Ron shudders.

I roll my eyes. „I'm not having _gay sex with Malfoy_.“

Tilting his head, Ron shifts in his chair. „You're not?“

„Nope.“ I shake my head.

„But... then what _are_ you doing? You're not dating, you're not fucking...“

I sigh, suddenly very tired. „That's a good question, honestly. I don't really know. I'm living with him.“

Ron's jaw drops. Horror is written all over his face. „You're _living_ with him.“

I shrug weakly. „Kinda.“

Ron leans back again. „Merlin help me.“

I give him a moment to digest the news, then say quietly: „I really like him, Ron.“

My friend just nods, without looking at me. „Yeah,“ he says, voice pained. „I figured.“

„Sorry,“ I say.

Ron glances at me, then drains his coffee. „That one will take me a while,“ he says and I nod because I knew it would.

„So,“ he says and it's too funny how he's visibly pulling himself together. „Why aren't you dating? Or... you know.“

„Having gay sex?“ I can't help it – I laugh.

„Yeah, that.“

My coffee mug is stained, outside and inside.

„He doesn't want to. I... really hurt him. Last time.“

„Last time?“

He figures it out without me having to say anything. „ _He's_ the reason Ginny broke up with you?“

„I didn't cheat! I swear, Ron.“

Ron rubs his nose. „You have awful taste, Harry.“

I honestly believe that Draco is the one with awful taste, but decide not to argue the point.

„I think you owe me a drink,“ Ron says at last. After a moment of consideration, he adds: „Or ten.“

* * *

A positive side effect of the public knowing I'm a veela, one I have never thought of, is the fact that people are now too afraid to throw things (or curses) at me. They still stare, obviously. But I feel a lot safer walking down the streets.

Safe enough, even, to not only buy some high-quality takeaway, but also quickly stop by Flourish and Blotts and pick up a book I've been wanting to read forever.

„What's that?“ Harry asks basically the second I step through the door, peering at the book curiously.

„Just a book. You won't know it.“

Harry raises a brow at me. „I'm not illiterate, you know.“

I give him a look. Roll my eyes. „It's Salinger.“

„He's muggle.“

Surprised, I look at him. „You _do_ know him.“

Harry smiles sheepishly. „I mean, of course I know _The Catcher in the Rye_. I... haven't read it though.“

My smugness returns. „I told you.“

„No. You said I wouldn't know it. I do know it.“

„Fine, Potter. Whatever you say.“

We eat dinner together, Harry going over some of his files, while I try not to watch him.

As soon as we retreat to the couch, we switch roles. Now he's watching me as I'm opening the book. I've made it as far as the first paragraph when Harry suddenly says: „You could read to me.“

„Excuse me?“

He's bright red. „Forget it.“

I need a moment to study his burning face. Then I say: „Such a slob, Potter. Wanting to appear literate but not willing to put in the work, are you?“

He turns his head away even farther, reaching for his files. „Just forget it.“

I clear my throat.

„ _If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me,_ “ I think Harry is holding his breath. My voice grows more confident with every word I read.

„ _...and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth_.“

I'm reading without ever looking up. 

At some point, Harry leans against my shoulder, but I don't think he's reading the lines before I say them. At a later point, he tentatively puts his head on my shoulder. At a point when my voice is already starting to grow hoarse, I put an arm around him and start petting his hair.

We've made it through half of the book when I have to stop because I can't listen to my own voice anymore, scratchy as it is now.

Harry doesn't move away. I can feel him breathing. My hand keeps carding through his messy curls.

„I don't like the book,“ Harry says.

„Why not?“ I can't help it – I instantly sound defensive.

„It's so... sad. He's so sad.“

„Holden?“

„Yes.“

I pull Harry closer and pretend it wouldn't kill me when he puts a hand on my belly, not moving, just resting there. So warm.

„I like that he's such a little shit.“

„You think he's a little shit?“

I shrug. „Kind of. Not like I was, obviously, but -“

„You're still shit.“

I snort. „Thanks, Potter. That feeling's mutual.“

I can feel him smile, but it quickly fades. It's almost like the air in the room changes with Harry's mood.

„What do you think they did to him?“

„Hm?“

„Holden's parents. What do you think they did to him?“

My brows lift. „I... don't know. It sounds like they didn't have much time for him.“

„You think that's all?“

I frown, quite happy that he can't see my face.

„What do you think they did to him?“

He tenses. „Don't know.“

I rub circles into his back until he relaxes again and then ask myself what the fuck I'm even doing.

„I grew up with muggles,“ Harry says.

Of course, I know that. Everyone does, since all those articles about Harry popped up, always making the frontpage, no matter how insignificant they were.

„They didn't really – like me. I mean, they hated me.“

My chest tightens. I know he can feel my heartbeat changing. „Weren't they your relatives?“

„That doesn't matter. They still hated me.“

His body is tense. I hold him tighter as if I could squeeze it right out of him.

„Did they hurt you?“ My voice is too low. It's the veela. Or maybe not. I don't care.

Harry stays quiet for a long time. „Sometimes,“ he finally says. „Not often.“

„Define _not often_.“

Another long silence. „Define _hurt me_.“

Dread is pooling in my stomach, but I try to keep my calm, at least on the outside.

„How does one define hurt? Caused you pain in any way.“

Harry won't relax. I'm afraid if I squeeze any tighter, I'll break his bones.

„I don't want to talk about this,“ he says but I think it's a lie, because he brought it up in the first place.

So I just stay quiet and wait. Wait wait wait and pretend I won't rip those muggles' hearts out and make them eat it. Which I will.

„They just... did stuff, sometimes.“

I suddenly feel sick. Absolutely sick.

„What – what do you mean, _stuff_?“

Harry squirms a little. „Don't worry, they didn't touch me, I don't mean... It's not bad, it's just -“

„Just?“

I'm starting to think that this conversation is going to take all night.

„I slept in a cupboard,“ he says.

„A cupboard?“

He tells me about it. That it was dark and there were many spiders. That they sometimes locked him in.

I remember he's scared of small spaces. Now I know why.

„I cried so much, but no one ever came. I thought... I often thought they had just left the house, moved out, and forgotten me in there.“

„Harry...“

„And I couldn't go to the bathroom. At night.“ His voice is so muffled, I have trouble understanding him. „They wouldn't let me. And if I... you know... Well then – the belt.“

„They hit you with a belt?“

„Vernon did. Not very often.“

Imagining a Mini-Harry, lying in the dark, in a dusty, disgusting cupboard, not able to fall asleep out of fear he might wet his bed... it makes me believe that I am capable of murder afterall.

„I'll kill them for you, if you like,“ I say nonchalantly, touching his fringe.

„Sure, Draco.“

„I mean it.“

I know he realizes that I'm dead serious. He presses a little closer.

„I hope I don't have to explicitely tell you that you're obviously not going to kill anyone.“

I wriggle around until I can look into his eyes. He doesn't want to meet my gaze, but I gently tilt his chin up and he does.

„Is there more?“ I ask.

He swallows. Nods.

„I don't want to talk about it,“ he repeats and I think, this time, he means it. For now, at least.

I brush his fringe back and bear the ripping feeling in my heart. There he goes again, reducing me to an aching mess of bone and marrow and too tender tissues.

„Alright. But you can. When you're ready.“

He looks at me as if I were something beautiful, something precious. 

He puts a hand on my cheek.

„I want to stay with you,“ he says.

I'm not quite sure what exactly he means – he's been staying at mine for months now – but I nod anyway.

Whatever he means, I know that I want it, too.

It's around my birthday when I finally give in and admit to myself that I'm in love with Harry. I'm in love with him when he hops onto the counter in my kitchen, grinning at the mess I always make when I try to cook for him.

I'm in love with him when he rests his head on my chest as I read to him.

I'm in love with him when he wets our bed and can't look at me for hours afterwards.

I don't tell him. I really don't think I need to, but I know that there's a difference between knowing something and having something confirmed.

If I tell him, he might leave.

So I don't. I'd rather live like this forever than lose him again.

* * *

It's shortly after my birthday when I finally give in and admit to myself that I'm in love with Draco.

I've been for a long time now. Pretty much since we first slept together, I think. I'm not sure – it's hard to keep track and to distinguish between my desire for him and that other, tender feeling that makes me want to touch in a different way.

The day I finally stop lying to myself, I go home early. Sit at the table and wait for Draco.

He comes through the door, slightly sweaty, fringe falling into his face.

„Pansy is going to be the death of me,“ he says in that theatrical way of his. „She wants me to do _another_ one of the denim skirts, even though I already _have_ done at least -“

I know he'll go on for ten more minutes if I don't cut him off now, so I interrupt him.

„Draco?“

He raises an eyebrow at me. „Yes? I wasn't done complaining about Pansy.“

„I'm in love with you.“

He staggers. He actually loses his balance.

„I – You.“

„Yes.“ I smile at him, heart racing, hammering like crazy.

Draco swallows thickly, eyes darting over my face, then away.

„Are you – since when?“

„I don't know. Does it matter?“

He wrings his hands.

„You don't have to say it back,“ I say, unease shadowing the light in my chest. „That's okay. You don't have to – reciprocate. I just needed you to know that.“

Draco says nothing. I bite my lip. My palms are sweaty. I'm nauseous. „Do you want me to leave?“

Draco laughs. It's a dry, strangled sound. „Leave?“

„I understand if it's – if you...“

Grey, beautiful eyes finally hold mine. „Harry, I – Are you sure?“

I frown a little. „Yes. Very sure.“

I get up, slowly approach him. My hands are shaking.

„Look, I – I want you. But...“

He knows now what a freak I am. Not even Ginny knew that much, even though she knew a little.

I know that everything I've told him certainly made me less and less desirable to him.

I don't think that Draco doesn't like me (he wouldn't let me camp out in his flat like that if he didn't), but it's very possible that he doesn't want me anymore.

I wouldn't want me, either.

Draco takes a step toward me. Then another one. He's just looking at me.

„I'm going to kiss you now,“ I say, heart hammering in my chest.

Before I can, he kisses me.

I don't think I've ever anticipated a kiss as much as I've anticipated this one. No, I _know_ I haven't.

It's bliss. It's pure bliss.

We stumble into his bedroom. He takes our clothes off. I smile against his lips. My fingers trace the faint scars on his chest, the ones I caused.

„I want you to fuck me.“ 

His words cut through the daze I was in. My eyes widen. „Are you sure?“

„Would I have asked if I wasn't?“

I've never fucked a man before and, even though he did tell me that he has bottomed before, I don't think Draco does it often. He tells me what to do, but his voice is shaking while he does.

„Are you – do you really like this?“ I ask him, wary. I don't want to hurt him. Or even just make him uncomfortable.

He grins at me wrly. Then his expression morphs into something different, something more real.

„I want you, Harry Potter,“ he says and for a moment, I'm afraid I'll come just from fingering him. He's so tight and hot and the urge to please him is overwhelming me.

I push inside him and almost lose my mind about it. This is _nothing_ like fucking Ginny was. Nothing like it at all.

He's looking at me out of those gorgeous eyes, his legs spread and I realize with a shock that almost makes me panic, that he allows me to see him vulnerable.

That he trusts me.

„I want to make you feel good,“ I say. 

He smiles.

„How – how do you like it?“

He just kisses me and I try to remember how Ginny likes to be fucked, but that was so different and then I try to remember what _I_ like.

My thrusts speed up.

Draco moans quitely, one hand on my neck, the other cupping my arse.

When I go harder, he stops me.

„Slower,“ he whispers, nipping on my ear. „I don't like it as hard as you do.“

We move together for a long, long time. Only when I feel the heat curling tight inside me, knowing I won't last much longer, I start wanking him. He comes between our bellies, over our chests, and I come inside him.

„You don't like bottoming that much, right?“ I say, tracing slow circles on Draco's belly.

I think he's smiling.

„Not usually.“

„We don't have to do it again.“

„I think I like it sometimes. When it's with you.“

Now I'm smiling too. He kisses my jaw.

„Will you fuck me now?“ I ask, trying and failing to conceal the eagerness in my voice.

Draco's laugh, low and rumbly and a little hoarse, makes my skin heat.

„Will you go on a date with me?“

„Yes,“ I say, without even thinking about it. I slip a hand between his legs. He's half-hard already. Before I can start wanking him, he catches my wrist.

„You're not just saying that because you want me to fuck you, right?“

„No. I mean it.“

My breath hitches when rolls onto his side, flipping me over. He touches me between my legs and I spread them, not even thinking about it.

He pins me down and then he starts kissing down my spine.

I say his name, pleading, begging. Wanting.

He licks and kisses me until I'm begging him to fuck me. 

Pressing little kisses to my shoulder blades, lightly biting the nape of my neck, he pushes inside me, pushes me into the mattress. I can't breathe. I don't think I've ever been this turned on before.

„Where do you want to go for our date?“ he asks, sounding almost casual while bottoming out. I whimper.

„Just fuck me,“ I beg him.

He laughs a little and I clench my arse around him. His laugh turns into a groan.

„Well, I assume – _fuck_ , we can... talk about that – after.“

I hum and smile and then he starts thrusting and I can only moan.

After coming for the second time, we can't move. We lie on our sides, facing each other, one of my legs between his.

„I love you,“ I tell him. Searching his eyes.

I won't die if he doesn't say it back. But unlike the first time I said it, I now want him to. I really want him to.

He swallows thickly. For the first time, I recognize that particular look in his silver eyes for what is: Fear.

„I love you, Draco,“ I say again.

He takes my hand and kisses the knuckles of my fingers.

„Sleep with me, Harry.“

It takes Draco several more months until he says it back. We officially move in together.

Hermione and Draco begin a tentative friendship over a lot of coffee and stories about the shelter.

Bit by bit, I tell Draco more about my childhood. Sometimes, that results in horrible nightmares of darkness and walls caving in, of frying pans and cigarrette stubs. Two more times, I wake up in a wet bed and try everything to clean it all up before Draco notices. But he always does.

I've always felt a bit like a freak for how much I crave physical contact. I don't anymore.

Draco is _constantly_ touching me. I think it's his way of telling me and for a long time, that's okay.

I think he loves my clinginess and I love his jealousy, even though we both know it's a little bit wrong. But I don't care much.

It's only after another dinner with Hermione, in Draco's bed, that the burning need for him to _tell_ me resurfaces.

I'm on my elbows and knees and he's making the soft grunting noises he always makes when he's approaching orgasm. He isn't looking at my face and it's not that I usually care – I find him watching himself fucking my arse almost as hot as he does – but right now, I don't want him to look at my hole.

I want him to look at me.

„Draco,“ I say. His eyes are black.

„Yeah?“ He doesn't want to stop. He wants to go faster and faster and then spill inside me.

„I want to change positions.“

„Okay.“

He's a little surprised when I get on top of him, kneeling up and sinking down on his cock. I don't ride him very often.

I wrap my arms around his neck and start rolling my hips. His fingers are digging into my hips, my arse.

„Tell me,“ I say, breathless. His eyes are so black. I can only see myself in them.

„Harry, please.“ I'm going too slow.

„Tell me,“ I repeat and I think he senses the urgency in my voice.

His hands tighten even further. His eyes search mine.

I sink down, nose brushing his.

„I love you.“

Something in my chest blooms. Something warm and bright and carefree. 

Something beautiful.

„Oh Merlin, I love you, Harry. I love you I love you I love you.“ He can't stop saying it. I can't stop moaning.

We come at the same time and it feels like the moon and the sun melting into one.

Afterward, we lie together, nose to nose.

I'm playing with Draco's fringe. His hand is on my hip.

„Do you remember Azkaban?“ Draco asks quietly.

I nod. „Of course.“

„I loved you then.“

I smile. „You told me so. Well, you wrote me.“

He swallows. His eyes are back to grey. He casts them down and I can count his blond lashes. 

„I've loved you before, even. I can't remember not loving you.“

The beautiful, fragile thing in my chest spreads through my whole body.

We lie facing each other until dusk.

I think about the little brat Draco was. I think about the terrified teenager that made all the wrong choices. I think about the broken boy in Azkaban. I think about the veela that can't help but protect me, always, even when it's wrong. I think about the man in my bed.

I love them all.

Just like Draco does with my broken pieces.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are the best! If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask :)


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